THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


SUNNY    DUCROW 
Drawn  by  J.  C.  Cowl. 


SUNNY  DUCROW 


BY 

HENRY  ST.  JOHN  COOPER 


FRONTISPIECE  BY 

J.  C.  COWL 


GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS  NEWYORK 

Made  in  the  United  State*  of  America 


COPYRIGHT,  192* 

BY 
HENRY  ST.  JOHN  COOPER 


This  edition  is  issued  under  arrangement  with  the  publishers 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS,  NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


Ube  •Rnicherbocfcer  press,  we  w  Botfe 


PUBLISHERS'  NOTE 

The  frontispiece  to  Sunny  Ducrow  is  a  reproduction  in 
colors  of  a  picture  which  has  previously  been  printed 
in  both  Vanity  Fair  and  The  London  Sketch,  represent- 
ing a  charming  pose  in  character  of  Miss  Florence 
O'Denishawn,  the  well  known  dancer,  to  whom  rather 
than  to  the  artist  the  design  should  be  credited. 


iii 


PREFACE  TO  THE  AMERICAN  EDITION 

HERE,  in  my  English  home,  I  sit,  pen  in  hand,  yet  a 
little  hesitating,  greatly  anxious,  vainly  trying  to 
call  to  mind  some  high-sounding  phrases,  some  eloquent 
utterances,  with  which  I  may  make  appeal  to  the  great 
heart  of  the  American  people,  to  whom  I  am  unknown 
and  a  stranger,  and  yet  I  take  comfort  in  the  thought 
that  to  the  stranger  the  kindly  American  was  ever  hos- 
pitable. 

So  dear  unknown  American  reader,  I  claim  from  you, 
with  confidence,  your  hospitality,  and  still  though  I  am 
but  a  stranger,  I  feel  that  I  may  perhaps  have  a  little 
claim  on  your  generosity  through  one  dead  these  many 
years,  one  very  dear  to  me  in  life,  dear  always  in  my  mem- 
ory. He  lived  among  you  for  many  years,  when  the 
nineteenth  century  was  yet  in  her  teens,  he  sang  of  you 
and  of  your  country  songs  that  many  of  you  remember 
hearing  your  Fathers  sing:  these  old  songs  with  their 
pleasant  memories,  To  the  West,  Oh  Woodman  Spare  thai 
Tree,  A  Life  on  the  Ocean  Wave,  Cheer,  Boys,  Cheer, 
Mighty  Niagara,  and  many  and  many  more.  And  be- 
cause he,  my  dear  old  grandfather,  Henry  Russell,  knew 
you  and  loved  you  and  lived  among  you  for  so  long,  per- 
haps I  feel  no  such  great  stranger  after  all. 

This  little  book  of  mine  is  a  simple  story,  aspiring  to  no 
great  literary  flight,  yet  perhaps  as  you  turn  its  pages, 
it  may  here  and  there  win  a  smile  from  your  lips,  per- 
haps— and  to  me,  a  greater  triumph — it  may  to  some  kind 
eye  bring  a  tear. 


vi  Preface 

So  after  all  my  preface,  like  my  story,  is  lacking  in 
well-turned  sentences  and  literary  brilliance.  As  in  one 
chapter  of  this  book,  my  little  red-haired  girl  of  the  Lon- 
don slums  comes  down  to  the  footlights  and  holds  out 
her  hands  to  her  audience,  asking  that  it  will  not  take 
from  her  the  chance  she  has  been  waiting  for  so  long,  so 
I,  too,  plead  to  you,  for  this,  my  chance  in  your  country, 
and  feel  that  I  shall  not  plead  in  vain. 

HENRY  ST.  JOHN  COOPER. 

SUKBURY-ON-THAMBS, 
November,  1919. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACK 

I. — HER  FIRST  APPEARANCE  IN  PUBLIC  .        i 

II. — AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  LADDER       .    12 

HI.— THE  START     .         .        .        .        .20 

IV. — THE  CONTRACT       .         .         .     M,.,.     30 

V. — GETTING  ON  .        .        ."    r  9f     42 

VI. — THE  FIRST  NIGHT  .         .        •       „•      S2 

VII. — GOOD  REPORTS       .         .  .      64 

VIIL— THE  OTHER  WAY    ....      73 

IX. — A  SITTING 78 

X.— THE  RIGHT  WAY    ....       89 

XI. — STILL  GETTING  ON!          .         .         .94 

XII. — THE  NEW  REVUE   .         .         .         .100 

XIII. — MAKING  TERMS      ....     109 

XIV. — SUNNY  BREAKS  DOWN     .         .         .     1 14 

XV. — AN  OFFER  OF  MARRIAGE          .         .122 

XVI. — SUNNY  is  DISCHARGED     .         .         .135 

XVII. — NEW  PLANS 140 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVIII.— A  NEW  FRIEND       .         .         .         .145 

XIX. — A  GENTLEMAN        .         .         .         .152 

XX. — HER  OWN,  BACK     .         .         .         .155 

XXI.— A  SONG 161 

XXII. — A  CHARITY  CONCERT       .         .         .     175 

XXIII. — SUNNY'S  SUCCESS    ....     177 

XXIV. — NEW  FRIENDS         .         .         .         .184 

XXV. — A  FRIEND  INDEED  .         .         .         .190 

XXVI.— No  FOOL 195 

XXVII. — A  HOME  OF  HER  OWN      .         .         .     207 

XXVIII.— A  MOVE 210 

XXIX.— THE  OLD  FRIENDS  .         .         .         .218 

XXX. — NEW  IDEAS 228 

XXXI.— THE  FUTURE  ....     235 

XXXII.— AN  APPEAL 238 

XXXIII. — THE  LION  AND  THE  MOUSE      .         .     249 

XXXIV. — SUNNY  GETS  TO  WORK    .         .         .     252 

XXXV. — AUGUST  THE  THIRD          .         .         .     260 

XXXVI. — IDENTIFICATION       .         .         .         .271 

XXXVII.— SNARED 274 


Contents  ix 

CHAPTER  PACK 

XXXVIII.— Miss  CASSON  CALLS        .        .        .277 

XXXIX. — Miss  CASSON  WRITES  A  NOTE           .  283 

XL. — AN  ACT  OF  FRIENDSHIP   .         .         .  292 

XLI. — THE  BOOMING  OF  "  JOHN  CROW"      .  296 

XLII. — CURREN'S  AND  RAS'BERRIES     .         .  302 

XLIII. — MR.  BARSTOWE  ATTENDS  A  MATINEE  314 

XLIV. — MR.  JOHNSON  GROWS  NERVOUS        .  325 

XLV. — A  LAND  DEAL         ....  333 

XLVI. — A  QUESTION  OF  EDUCATION      .         .  346 

XLVII. — THE  BIRTH  OF  "SUNNYVILLE".         .  356 

XLVIIL— Too  LATE 359 

XLIX. — SOMETHING  A  LITTLE  WRONG  .         .  366 

L. — THE  AWAKENING    ....  376 

LI. — JUST  A  LITTLE  TOO  FAST          .         .  378 

LIL— "No!" 381 

LIII. — AT  BRIGHTON          ....  387 

LIV. — AT  SUNNYVILLE      ....  400 

LV. — THREE  LETTERS      ....  409 

LVI. — THE  LOVE  STORY  OF  A  DUCHESS       .  418 

LVII. — AN  INVITATION       ....  424 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

LVTII. — Two  ENGAGEMENTS         .         .         .427 

LIX. — FIVE  O'CLOCK  TEA          .         .         .     439 

LX. — A  CHANGE     .         .         .         .         .     445 

LXI. — THE  DUCHESS  ACTS         .         .         .     452 

LXII. — ASHES 457 

LXIII. — LONELY 461 

LXIV.— WHY  IT  DIED          .         .         .         .467 
LXV.— THE  THING  SHE  COUL»  NOT  Do       .     476 


SUNNY  DUGROW 


SUNNY  DUCROW 


CHAPTER  I 

HER   FIRST   APPEARANCE   IN    PUBLIC 

"/^RUMBLING  and  growling  won't  'elp  you,  Bert; 

vJ.  you've  got  to  look  on  the  bright  side  of  things  in 
this  world!"  the  girl  said. 

The  boy,  trudging  by  her  side,  sniffed. 

"There  isn't  no  bright  side  of  nothing!"  he  said. 

"Go  on!"  she  said  briefly. 

"It's  all  very  well  for  you!"  he  grumbled.  "You're 
a  girl;  you  don't  get  hit  and  slogged  about  like  me! 
They're  down  on  me!" 

"Because  you've  always  got  a  miserable  mug  on  you," 
she  said.  "If  you  was  to  be  like  me,  laugh  and  make 
'em  laugh  too,  you'd  be  all  right!" 

"I  'ate  it!"  he  said  passionately;  "I  'ate  it!  It's 
bad  enough  in  the  summer,  what  with  the  wasps  buzzing 
round,  and  the  smell — the  sickening  smell  of  the  boiling 
sugar  and  the  ras'berries  and  the  rest — but  the  winter's 
worse  still !  The  onions  and  the  shallots  and  the  smell 
of  the  vinegar  makes  me  ill!" 

"Well,  it  won't  be  for  long!"  the  girl  said. 

He  looked  at  her.  "  'Ow  do  you  mean  it  won't  be  for 
long?  What  else  is  there  for  us  but  the  jam  and  pickle 
factory?" 


2  Sunny  Ducrow 

"What  else?"  She  looked  at  him  with  sudden  scorn 
in  her  blue  eyes.  "There's  all  the  blessed  world,  ain't 
there?  You  don't  s'pose,  Bert  Jackson,  that  I'm  going 
to  stick  in  a  pickle  factory  all  my  life?  Not  me!" 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  then?  Get  a  place  as 
'ousemaid,  or " 

She  darted  a  look  at  him,  then  suddenly  gripped  him 
by  the  arm.  "See  that?"  she  said.  She  pointed.  A 
smart  motor  was  rolling  noiselessly  down  the  street;  a 
chauffeur  was  driving ;  beside  him  sat  a  footman  in  livery, 
his  arms  folded  across  his  chest.  "See  that?  That's 
my  mark.  Before  I'm  done  I'm  going  riding  in  a  car 
like  that,  Bert!" 

He  laughed  mirthlessly. 

"All  right,  you  see!"  she  said.  "You  wait  and  see. 
One  day  I'll  remind  you  of  what  I  just  said.  Wait  and 
see!" 

He  laughed  again,  then  grizzled.  He  was  a  thin, 
white-faced,  narrow-chested  lad  of  about  eighteen.  The 
girl  by  his  side  was  a  year  younger,  but  there  was 
this  difference  between  them :  while  the  lad  walked  with 
dragging  footsteps  and  lowered  head,  the  girl  stepped 
bravely  along  the  pavement. 

She  was  a  little  girl;  the  crown  of  her  naming  head 
only  just  topped  the  boy's  shoulder.  Hers  was  the  hair 
that  the  greatest  of  the  old  masters  loved  to  paint — the 
brilliant,  living,  rich  red  gold  that  is  so  rarely  seen  in 
gray  England.  Rude  little  boys  in  the  streets,  who  had 
no  art  in  their  souls,  put  their  hands  to  their  mouths 
and  bellowed ' '  Carrots ! ' '  after  her.  But  she  did  not  care ; 
she  took  everything  in  good  part.  Laughter  gleamed  in 
her  blue  eyes;  it  rippled  over  the  edges  of  her  rather 
large  mouth.  Whatever  happened,  she  laughed;  her 
good  temper  was  unassailable.  If  she  fell  down  the 
narrow  wooden  steps  at  the  pickle  and  jam  factory, 


Her  First  Appearance  in  Public     3 

she  laughed,  though  she  might  have  bruised  herself 
badly. 

It  was  Bill  Wilkins,  the  foreman  at  the  factory,  who 
had  three  years  ago  christened  her  "Sunny.", 

"What  with  your  bloomin'  red  'ead  and  your  ever- 
lasting smile,"  he  said,  "blow  if  you  ain't  like  a  streak 
of  sunshine  comin'  into  the  place!  It  does  a  chap 
good  to  look  at  you.  Sunny's  a  good  name  for  you, 
and  that's  what  I'm  going  to  call  you!"  And  Sunny 
it  was  from  that  moment.  Others  fell  into  the  habit 
of  calling  her  Sunny.  She  was  Sunny  even  on  the 
pay-sheet  when  the  small  amount  of  her  weekly  wage, 
eight  shillings  and  sixpence,  was  entered  to  the  credit 
of  Sunny. 

"You  won't  never  ride  in  no  motor-car,  unless  it's 
a  omnibus,  or" — the  boy  paused — "maybe  a  motor- 
'earse,"  he  said  lugubriously. 

"You  shut  up!"  Sunny  said.  "I'm  not  going  to  ride 
in  no  hearse  yet  a  while.  I've  got  a  lot  to  do  before 
that  time  comes.  What  you  want,  Bert,  is  a  day  out  in 
the  country!" 

' '  What  I  shan't  get ! "  he  said.  ' '  Country— the  coun- 
try wasn't  made  for  me!  I  ain't  got  the  fare;  besides, 
what  should  I  do  in  the  country?" 

"  Run  about  and  pick  flowers  and  let  the  wind  ruffle 
your  'air  and — and — oh,  everything!"  the  girl  said. 
Her  eyes  flashed,  her  white  teeth  glistened.  "That's 
what  I'm  always  longing  for,  Bert — the  country!  Some- 
times I  feel  as  if  I  couldn't  hardly  breathe  here  in  these 
streets!  Bert,  if  only  you  and  me  could  get  a  day  out 
there!" 

He  shook  his  head.  "Where's  the  money  coming 
from?" 

Sunny  put  her  hand  into  her  pocket  and  produced 
eight  shillings  and  sixpence.  She  had  been  paid  off  half 


4  Sunny  Ducrow 

an  hour  ago  at  the  factory,  for  it  was  Friday  night — 
pay  night. 

"That  ain't  yours,"  he  said.  "Your  aunt'll  be  all 
over  it  when  you  get  back!" 

"I  know;  but  if  she  could  spare  me  two  shillings  this 
week " 

"She  won't!  "he  said.     "Not 'er!" 

"No,  I  s'pose  she  won't;  anyhow,  there's  no  harm 
trying!"  she  said.  "What  about  you?" 

"I've  got  my  money — six  bob,"  he  said.  "Father'll 
be  waiting  for  it;  if  I  was  to  take  back  only  five-and- 
eleven  'e'd  break  my  neck  for  me,  'e  would!" 

"Bert,"  she  said  suddenly,  "I  want  to  go  out  into  the 
country;  I've  got  to  go.  When  I  make  up  my  mind  to 
do  a  thing,  I  do  it,  somehow!  I'm  going  to  do  it!" 

"You  ain't  got  the  money,"  he  said  despondently, 
"and  you  can't  get  it  neither!" 

"I  will!"  she  said.  She  set  her  small,  white  even 
teeth.  "I'm  going  to  get  the  money;  you  and  me'll 
get  it!" 

"No  'ousebreaking  for  me!"  he  said. 

She  laughed  happily.  "No,  I  know  a  better  way," 
she  said.  "Bert,  you  meet  me  to-night  in  half  an 
hour " 

"What  for?" 

"Meet  me  and  I'll  tell  you,"  she  said — "half  an  hour. 
Good-bye,  Bert,  and  cheer  up!" 

She  left  him  at  the  corner  of  the  wretched  street  where 
he  lived  and  she  walked  on.  She  almost  danced  along 
the  pavement;  there  was  a  light  spring  in  her  step;  a 
distant  organ  was  grinding  out  a  tune  and  she  danced 
along  in  time  with  the  music. 

She  was  very  ragged !  her  boots  were  atrocious,  her 
stockings  were  very  creased  and  out  at  the  heel,  her 
dress  had  never  been  made  for  her,  but  had  been  cut 


Her  First  Appearance  in  Public     5 

down  and  cobbled  up  in  some  unsightly  fashion.  Yet 
hopelessly  shapeless  though  it  was,  it  could  not  com- 
pletely hide  the  graceful,  curved  lines  of  her  little  figure. 
Her  hat  was  a  black  straw;  there  was  a  hole  in  the 
crown,  through  which  protruded  a  wisp  of  red  hair. 
She  was  pretty  in  a  roguish,  brilliant,  almost  impudent 
way.  Her  little  nose  turned  up  very  distinctly  at  the 
end,  her  mouth  was  large,  but  the  lips  were  very  red,  and 
the  teeth,  that  she  showed  so  lavishly  when  she  laughed, 
were  brilliantly  white.  She  had  the  pure,  almost  trans- 
parently white  complexion  that  often  goes  with  hair  of 
her  color.  But  its  perfection  was  marred  by  freckles, 
— that  are  also  often  an  accompaniment  of  red  hair. 
Somehow  the  freckles  suited  her;  they  seemed  part  and 
parcel  of  her  glowing  young  personality. 

Sunny,  who  had  been  christened  Elizabeth  Ann, 
tripped  down  the  narrow,  dirty,  little  street.  Presently 
happened  an.  event  that  was  by  no  means  unusual  with 
her:  one  of  her  broken,  ragged  old  boots  flew  off  her 
foot ;  it  described  a  half-circle  in  the  air  and  came  down 
in  the  gutter. 

"Drat  it!"  she  said.  "I'll  really  have  to  get  myself 
a  new  pair.  Next  pair  will  be  French  with  high  heels 
and  silver  buckles" — she  paused  and  laughed  merrily — 
"in  my  mind!"  she  added,  as  she  rescued  the  boot  from 
the  gutter  and  put  it  on  again. 

She  was  home  now — the  only  home  she  had  known 
since  she  was  a  tiny  child — a  tall,  narrow,  dingy  house 
in  a  dirty,  narrow  street.  The  door  of  the  house  stood 
open;  all  the  years  that  Sunny  had  lived  there  she  never 
remembered  to  have  seen  that  door  closed.  It  stood 
open  all  day  and  all  night.  The  house  itself  was  like  a 
rabbit  warren;  it  was  tenanted  by  half  a  dozen  families. 
Sunny 's  home  was  on  the  topmost  floor;  she  ran  upstairs. 
She  knew  exactly  which  broken  stair  to  avoid,  even  in 


6  Sunny  Ducrow 

the  pitchy  darkness  of  the  staircase.  She  arrived  at 
the  top  without  a  slip  and  opened  a  door.  It  was  an 
attic  room,  with  sloping  ceiling.  In  the  middle  of  the 
room  was  a  small  table,  on  which  burned  a  candle.  There 
were  two  or  three  chairs,  and  a  bed  in  one  corner.  On 
one  of  the  chairs,  with  her  elbows  on  the  table,  sat  a 
woman.  She  was  a  thin,  narrow-faced  woman,  with 
gray-black  hair,  wisps  of  which  streamed  down  her  face 
and  over  her  eyes  in  the  manner  of  a  Skye  terrier. 

At  the  moment  that  Sunny  opened  the  door  and  came 
in  the  woman  was  weeping;  she  was  rocking  herself 
backwards  and  forwards  on  her  chair,  emitting  dismal, 
moaning  sounds. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Sunny  asked. 

"There's  nothing  to  live  for — nothing;  there's  no 
'ope!"  her  aunt  said.  "To  think  I  should  come  to 
this!  Me  who  once  'ad  a  respectable  business;  me  who 
'ad  a  parlor  of  my  own!"  she  moaned.  "Life's  'ard," 
she  said — "bitter  'ard!" 

Sunny  paused  and  stared  at  her.  "Ain't  Lizzie  been 
to  see  you  this  afternoon?"  she  asked. 

The  woma'n  looked  up  slowly.  "I  ain't  'ad  a  drop," 
she  said — "not  a  drop!" 

Sunny  sniffed.  She  knew  better;  her  sharp  eyes  de- 
scried a  bottle  propped  in  a  corner  of  the  room. 

"Got  the  money?"  her  aunt  asked.  "You  got  your 
wages,  Elizabeth  Ann?"  She  was  the  only  person  who 
called  Sunny  by  the  names  her  godfathers  and  godmothers 
had  selected  for  her. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  the  money,"  Sunny  said. 
"It's  like  this — I  want  to  go  and  'ave  a  day  in  the 
country " 

"You — you  want — "  Mrs.  Melkin  sat  back  and 
stared  at  the  girl  as  though  she  had  taken  leave  of 
her  senses. 


Her  First  Appearance  in  Public     7 

"Me  and  Bert  Jackson  have  made  up  our  mind  to 
take  a  day  off  to-morrow;  it's  Saturday  half-day.  We 
want  to  go  to  Hampton  Court  on  the  tram,  and  go  to  the 
river,  and  like  that!" 

"You  give  me  that  there  money!"  Mrs.  Melkin  said. 

"I  thought  you  might  spare" — Sunny  paused;  she 
had  meant  to  demand  two  shillings  of  her  own  earnings, 
but  her  courage  failed  her — "a  shillin' !"  she  said. 

1 '  You  give  me  that  there  money,  miss,  at  once !  Wasting 
money  such  times  as  this  going  to  'AmptonCourt  on  trams. 
I  never  did  'ear  the  like !  'And  it  over  at  once,  or " 

"Well,  sixpence?"  Sunny  said. 

"If  you  don't  give  me  every  penny " 

Sunny  counted  out  her  hard  earnings,  slowly  and 
regretfully.  The  woman  reached  out  and  grabbed  them; 
she  counted  them  twice  to  herself  to  make  sure;  then 
she  sighed  and  resumed  her  moaning  and  groaning  and 
references  to  her  past  splendor. 

When  her  aunt  was  in  one  of  her  moods,  Sunny  knew 
it  would  be  useless  to  discuss  matters  with  her.  She 
got  her  own  tea;  it  was  a  frugal  meal.  Tea  with  no 
milk,  a  hunch  of  bread  and  a  piece  of  cheese,  but  she  set 
her  strong  white  teeth  into  the  hard  crust  and  seemed  to 
enjoy  it.  At  any  rate,  she  did  not  grumble.  Wander- 
ing round  the  room,  she  managed  to  kick  the  bottle  and 
bring  it  down;  it  was  empty.  No  doubt  it  had  been 
full  not  many  hours  ago,  which  accounted  for  her  aunt's 
lachrymose  condition. 

"A  best  parlor  I  'ad!"  Mrs.  Melkin  whined.  "I 
remember  it  like  it  was  yesterday:  a  round  ma'ogany 
table  in  the  middle,  the  feet  standin'  on  a  bit  of  lonelium 
so  as  not  to  mark  the  carpet,  and  on  the  mantelpiece  was 
two  chiny  ornaments  I  got  from  the  tea-shop;  one  'ad 
a  girl  with  a  sheep  on  it  and  the  other —  Elizabeth  Ann, 
where  are  you  going  to?" 


8  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Goin'  out!"  Sunny  said.  She  had  edged  towards 
the  door. 

Her  aunt  would  have  remonstrated,  but  Sunny  made 
a  sudden  bolt  for  it.  She  slammed  the  door  after  her 
and  sped  down  the  stairs;  then  she  had  to  come  back 
and  grope  in  the  darkness  for  one  of  her  boots,  which 
she  found. 

Bert  was  waiting  faithfully  at  the  street  corner.  He 
looked  a  shade  more  miserable  than  when  they  had 
parted. 

"I  gave  'im  the  money,  and  he  said  if  I  didn't  get  a 
bob  rise  inside  two  weeks  'e'd  give  me  the  strap,  'e  did, 
Sunny?" 

"You'll  get  the  rise  all  right!"  she  said.  "Don't 
worry,  every thing'll  come  all  right." 

"  I  wish  I  could  look  at  it  your  way ! "  he  said. 

"It's  the  only  way;  what's  the  use  of  worrying? 
Care  killed  the  cat!"  She  laughed  joyously.  "Come 
on,  Bert!" 

"Where  are  you  going  to?"  he  asked. 

"West!"  she  said. 

"West!     What  for?" 

"I'll  tell  you  presently;  we're  going  to  earn  our  day 
in  the  country  to-morrow." 

He  shook  his  head;  he  had  no  faith  in  the  future 
whatever. 

"You're  on  wires,  you  are,  Sunny;  you  never  seem  to 
get  tired!"  he  said. 

"What's  the  use  of  getting  tired?"  she  said.  "Time 
to  get  tired  when  one  is  eighty!" 

"What  did  your  aunt  say?"  he  asked. 

"Lizzie!"  Sunny  said  briefly. 

"She's  always  at  it,  ain't  she?"  Bert  said. 

"  Pretty  near  always ;  she  says  it  keeps  her  spirits  up ! " 

"Putting    'em   down  keeps   'em  up!"     He  laughed 


Her  First  Appearance  in  Public     9 

weakly  at  his  own  joke.  "Sunny,  where  are  we  gettin' 
to?" 

They  had  walked  a  considerable  way,  had  crossed  a 
bridge  over  the  river,  and  now  they  were  in  the  well- 
lighted  and  busy  thoroughfares  of  the  west  end. 

"Know  any  songs,  Bert?"  she  asked. 

"Songs ! "     He  stared  at  her. 

"Tunes!"  she  said.  "Know  any  songs  at  all?" 
She  paused.  "  Know  Won't  you  Buy  my  Pretty  Flowers?  " 

"I  did  know  it,  only  it  give  me  the  'ump,"  he  said. 
"I  forgot  it  on  purpose!" 

Sunny  laughed.  "It's  a  bit  miserable,"  she  said. 
"Do  you  know" — she  hesitated — "Down  Where  the 
Water-lilies  Grow?'1 

Bert  shook  his  head.  "I  'card  it,"  he  said.  "Father 
sings  it  sometimes  when  'es  'ad  too  much ;  it  ain't  a  song 
I  care  about." 

Sunny  tried  again.  "Remember  that  night  me  and 
you  got  sixpence  each  and  got  into  that  there  concert?" 
she  said. 

He  nodded.  Was  he  likely  to  forget  it  ?  It  was  almost 
the  one  bright  spot  in  his  life. 

"Remember  a  chap  singing  a  song  about  'is  old 
Dutch?"  Sunny  said.  "Like  this."  She  hummed  the 
tune. 

He  nodded.  "I  remember;  but  I  don't  know  the 
vrords." 

"I  do;  it  goes: 

"  We  been  together  now  for  forty  year, 
And  it  don't  seem  a  day  too  much, 
There  ain't  a  lady  living  in  the  land 
As  I'd  swop  for  my  dear  old  Dutch. 

"Remember?" 

He  nodded.     "I  remember  all  right." 


io  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Then  strike  up;  come  on,  get  into  the  road!"  she 
said. 

He  stared  at  her.  "You — you  ain't  going  to  sing  out 
loud?"  he  asked. 

"Of  course  I  am;  we're  going  to  earn  money  to  pay 
our  tram-fares  to  Hampton  Court  to-morrow!" 

"We'll  get  run  in,"  he  said. 

Sunny  laughed. 

"That  makes  it  all  the  more  fun,  taking  the  risk! 
Come  on,  now!" 

Very  unwillingly  he  stepped  into  the  gutter  by  her 
side,  and  Sunny  lifted  up  her  voice  and  sang : 

"We  been  together  now  for  forty  year " 

Sunny's  voice  was  very  strong,  very  shrill,  yet  very 
sweet.  It  was  clear  and  penetrating;  it  was  very  unlike 
the  usual  monotonous  howls  of  the  street  singers.  People 
turned  to  look.  Bert  plucked  up  courage  and  made 
some  ineffectual  noises  that  he  thought  was  singing. 

"Brother  and  sister,  pore  things!"  one  kindly  natured 
woman  said;  she  handed  Sunny  a  penny. 

A  young  man  stared.  "Not  a  bad  voice,  by  George ! " 
he  said.  "And,  by  George,  what  a  pretty  little  thing! 
A  confounded  shame  she  should  have  to  sing  in  the 
streets!  Why  don't  the  lout  of  a  brother  work?"  He 
tossed  Sunny  a  sixpence,  and  she  smiled  at  him,  show- 
ing her  dazzling  teeth. 

"Getting  on  fine,  aren't  we?"  she  whispered.  "Go 
on,  Bert,  sing  up." 

Bert  tried  to  sing  up;  he  only  succeeded  in  making  a 
more  discreditable  noise. 


"There  ain't  a  lady  living  in  the*land 
As  I'd  swop  for  my  dear  old  Dutch, " 


Sunny  sang. 


Her  First  Appearance  in  Public    n 

She  only  knew  the  one  verse;  but  that  did  not  matter. 
They  were  moving  on,  and  the  audience  was  changing 
every  moment. 

"You  ought  to  know  the  words  by  this  time,"  she 
whispered.  "Can't  you  sing  up  a  bit? 

"We  been  together  now  for  forty  years " 

A  big  policeman  stumped  down  the  street. 

4 '  Have  y ou  ? "  he  said.  "  I ' ve  been  looking  for  you  two. ' ' 

"What's  the  matter?"  Sunny  asked,  with  a  sudden 
sense  of  fear. 

' '  Matter,  singing  in  the  streets ! "  he  said.  ' '  Vagrancy, 
that's  what's  the  matter.  You  two  come  with  me." 
He  put  his  hand  on  their  separate  shoulders. 

"I  knew  it!"  Bert  groaned.  "We're  run  in.  I  knew 
it !  It's  your  fault,  Sunny ! " 


CHAPTER  II 

AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  LADDER 

•TTHE  police-court  magistrate  frowned. 
1      "Application   of    Miss   Leslie   Montressor  for  a 
license  to  permit  two  children  to  appear  in  a  revue  at 
the  Park  Music  Hall." 

The  magistrate  pursed  up  his  lips.  "I  don't  know," 
he  said;  "I  don't  know  at  all!"  He  looked  at  the 
applicant  over  his  spectacles. 

She  was  a  tall,  very  beautiful  woman,  with  shining 
golden  hair;  not  quite  a  young  woman,  perhaps,  yet  a 
remarkably  handsome  woman.  The  magistrate  was  a 
kindly  looking  man. 

"I  do  not  care  for  this  sort  of  thing.  What  is  the  age 
of  these  children? " 

"One  is  nine  and  the  other  eleven,"  she  said. 

"Too  young,  too  young;  far  too  young!"  He  shook 
his  head.  "Well,  well!"  He  paused.  "I'll  consider, 
I'll  think  it  over.  Wait.  I'll  take  the  next  case." 

Miss  Montressor  bowed. 

"I  am  to  wait?"  she  inquired. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "wait.  I  don't  care  for  this  child- 
performing  business  at  all,  but  I'll  see.  I've  no  wish  to 
be  unjust.  Next  case." 

Miss  Montressor  stepped  out  of  the  witness-box. 

"Vagrancy,  your  honor." 

"Dear,  dear!"  the  magistrate  said.     "Dear,  dear!" 

Into  the  prisoners'   dock  stepped  the  delinquents. 

12 


At  the  Foot  of  the  Ladder        13 

One  shuffled  with  a  melancholy  mien  and  downcast 
face,  the  other  tripped  lightly  into  the  dock  and  smiled 
broadly  at  the  paternal-looking  magistrate. 

"Herbert  Jackson  and  Elizabeth  Ann  Ducrow," 
someone  announced.  "Charged  with  vagrancy — sing- 
ing in  the  streets  for  the  purpose  of  collecting  alms." 

"We  weren't  collecting  alms  at  all,"  Sunny  said 
indignantly.  "Me  and  Bert  wanted  some  money  to 
pay  our  fares  to " 

"Wait!"  the  magistrate  said  sternly.  "You  will  have 
an  opportunity  to  talk  presently." 

The  ponderous  policeman  who  had  arrested  them 
went  into  the  witness-box.  He  declared  that  they  were 
always  pestering  people  for  money,  that  he  had  warned 
them  several  times,  but  they  had  taken  no  notice  of  his 
warnings,  so  he  had  arrested  them  last  evening  while 
they  were  singing  in  the  streets. 

Sunny's  face  burned,  her  blue  eyes  flamed. 

"Oh!"  she  gasped.  "How — how  can  he?  What  a 
liar!" 

"Hush!"  someone  said. 

"  Well,  it  is  a  lie !  He  never  saw  me  before  in  his  life ! " 
Sunny  exploded.  "When  did  you  see  me  in  the  streets 
asking  for  money?"  she  demanded  of  the  policeman. 

"Yesterday  morning;  it  was  about  twelve,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  was  it?"  Sunny  leaned  over  the  edge  of  the 
dock.  "Was  it?  What  about  me  being  in  Johnson's 
pickle  factory  then?"  She  turned  to  the  magistrate. 
"Don't  you  believe  a  word  he  says,  sir;  it's  not  true. 
Me  and  Bert  work  at  Johnson's  pickle  factory.  I've 
been  there  three  years,  Bert's  been  there  nearly  four. 
We're  there  all  day  long,  so  how  could  he  have  seen  us?" 

"You  were  singing  in  the  streets  last  night?"  the 
magistrate  said. 

Sunny  nodded.     She  smiled  at  him,  and  for  the  life 


14  Sunny  Ducrow 

of  him  the  old  gentleman  could  scarcely  repress  a  smile 
in  return. 

"It  was  like  this,"  she  said  in  a  confidential  tone. 
She  leaned  towards  him.  "Me  and  Bert  wanted  to  go 
to  Hampton  Court.  I  asked  my  aunt  to  let  me  keep  a 
shilling  of  my  money,  but  she  wouldn't.  Bert's  father 
wouldn't  let  him  have  none  of  his,  either.  So  we  had 
to  get  money  somehow  to  pay  our  fares,  and  I  thought 
if  I  sang  in  the  streets  I  might  get  enough.  I  never 
done  it  before,  and  what  that  fat  policeman  says  isn't 
true.  How  could  we  be  beggin'  in  the  streets  when  we're 
working  in  Johnson's  pickle  factory?  Ask  yourself!" 
Sunny  insisted.  "How  could  we  be  in  two  places  at 
once?  He  said  we  were  in  the  streets  beggin'  at  twelve 
yesterday.  Why,  we  were  at  the  pickle  factory !  I  was 
chopping  up  the  cauliflowers  for  the  piccalilli,  I  was,  and 
Bert  was  in  the  boiling-room.  It  always  makes  'im 
sick,  the  smell  of  vinegar.  Don't  it,  Bert?" 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

"Of  course,"  Sunny  admitted,  "I  s'pose  we  didn't 
ought  to  have  sung  in  the  streets,  only  there  was  no 
harm  in  it,  was  there?  We  wanted  to  go  to  Hampton 
Court.  Bert's  been  queer  in  his  insides  for  days;  it's 
the  smell  of  the  vinegar  and " 

"Silence!"  someone  said. 

Sunny  looked  round  indignantly. 

"I'm  telling  the  old  gentleman,"  she  said;  "he  wants 
to  know.  You  do  want  to  know,  don't  you,  sir?" 

"Yes,"  he  said.     "So  you  work  in  a  pickle  factory?" 

"Johnson's  in  Cutway  Street,  Borough,"  she  said. 
"You  call  down  there  first  time  you're  passing  and  ask 
to  see  Mr.  Bill  Wilkins;  he's  the  foreman.  He'll  tell 
you " 

"It  seems  to  be  a  case  of  mistaken  identity,"  the 
magistrate  said.  "Though" — he  paused,  and  looked 


At  the  Foot  of  the  Ladder        15 

at  Sunny — "I  cannot  understand  how  anyone  can  have 
mistaken  this  girl  for  any  other.  However,  it  is  very 
wrong,  and  it  is  against  the  law  to  sing  in  the  streets," 
he  said  severely.  "You  must  not  do  it  again." 

"Not  if  you  say  we're  not  to,"  Sunny  said. 

"Very  well.  On  that  understanding  you  can  go. 
The  charge  is  dismissed.  Next  case." 

Sunny  lingered.  She  felt  she  would  have  liked  to 
have  had  a  longer  chat  with  the  pleasant  old  gentleman. 

"  If  you  are  in  Cutway  Street  any  time,  our  hours  are 
from  seven  till  five,"  she  said. 

"The  charge  is  dismissed,"  he  said. 

A  police  constable  hustled  Sunny  and  Bert  out  of  the 
dock. 

"That  fat  policeman  is  the  worst  liar  I  ever  saw!" 
Sunny  declared  in  her  clear,  shrill  voice. 

"You  get  out  of  it,"  the  constable  said.  "Clear  out, 
and  think  yourself  lucky!" 

Sunny  smiled  at  him,  and  the  man  smiled  back. 

"Cut  along  now,"  he  said.     "You're  done  with." 

"I  thought  I  was  done  for,"  Bert  mumbled.  "This 
comes  of  listening  to  you,  Sunny!  I'll  get  the  strap  for 
this  when  I  get  back  from  father  all  right,"  he  grumbled. 

"I  shouldn't  worry!"  Sunny  said.  "Come,  Bert, 
let's  get  off!" 

They  were  making  towards  the  door  when  a  hand 
touched  Sunny's  arm. 

"  I  would  like  to  speak  to  you.  Could  you  wait  for  a 
little  while?" 

Sunny  looked  up.  She  saw  a  tall  and  very  handsome, 
golden-haired  woman,  richly  dressed. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "It's  not  much  use  our 
goin'  to  work  to-day,  anyhow;  it's  past  eleven,  and  we 
knock  off  at  one  on  Saturdays." 

"I  won't  keep  you  very  long.     I  should  like  to  talk 


1 6  Sunny  Ducrow 

to  you,"  the  lady  said.  "I  might  have  something  to 
propose  to  you  that  would  be  to  your  advantage.  Will 
you  wait?"  She  hurried  off,  for  her  case  was  being 
called  again. 

Sunny  nodded. 

The  lady  turned  away  to  enter  the  witness-box. 

"Come  on,"  Bert  said.  "Let's  get  out  of  this,  Sunny 
for  goodness'  sake!" 

"I  can't;  I  promised  her,"  she  said.  "You  go,  if  you 
like,  but  I'm  not  going  with  you." 

It  was  less  than  five  minutes  later  the  lady  came  back. 
She  looked  satisfied.  After  some  argument,  the  magis- 
trate had  granted  the  license. 

"We'll  go  somewhere  and  have  a  cup  of  tea,"  she  said- 
Sunny  nodded. 

"I  could  do  with  one,"  she  said.  "Let's  go  to  one  of 
them  aireyated  bread  shops." 

Miss  Montressor  looked  at  Bert. 

"  I  don't  think  there's  any  need  for  your — your  friend," 
she  said. 

"Bert's  with  me,"  Sunny  said.  "Me  and  Bert  is 
chums;  we  'ang  together.  Where  I  go,  Bert  goes." 

"Oh,  very  well!"  They  went  out  of  the  court,  they 
walked  down  the  street,  a  queerly  assorted  trio — Miss 
Montressor  in  her  elegant  clothes,  and  Sunny  shuffling 
along,  afraid  that  her  boots  might  play  truant  any 
moment,  Bert  with  hunched  shoulders  and  a  look  of 
miserable  dejection  on  his  face. 

The  waitress  at  the  coffee-shop  looked  at  Sunny  and 
Bert  askance. 

Sunny  looked  at  her,  smiled  broadly,  and  nodded. 

"Like  your  job  here  all  right?"  she  asked. 

The  girl  put  her  nose  in  the  air. 

"I'll  take  your  order,  if  you  please,"  she  said  to  Miss 
Montressor. 


At  the  Foot  of  the  Ladder        17 

"Three  cups  of  tea,  scones  and  butter  and  jam," 
Miss  Montressor  said. 

"Not — not  jam,"  Bert  shuddered.  "Not  jam  nor 
pickles,"  he  said,  "please." 

"  Me  and  Bert  ain't  keen  about  jam,"  Sunny  said. 

Miss  Montressor  smiled. 

"Cake,  then,"  she  said. 

And  now  they  were  seated  at  a  small  round  table. 

"So  you  work  in  a  pickle  factory,  do  you?"  she  said 
to  Sunny. 

Sunny  nodded. 

"Pickles  in  the  winter,  jam  in  the  summer,"  she  said. 

"Have  you  never  thought  of  bettering  your  position?" 

Sunny  laughed  outright.  "I  ain't  never  thought 
about  anything  else,"  she  said.  "I'm  not  going  to  stick 
in  a  pickle  and  jam  factory  all  my  life." 

"Then  you  have  ambitions?" 

"I  mean  to  get  on,  if  that's  what  that  means,"  Sunny 
said.  "I'm  not  going  to  stand  still;  I'm  going  ahead,  I 
am. ' '  She  thrust  out  her  firm  little  rounded  chin.  "I'm 
going  to  work  my  way  up  somehow." 

"How?"  Miss  Montressor  asked. 

"I  don't  know;  I  ain't  thought  about  it  yet.  When 
I  get  a  big  house  and  five  servants  and  a  motor-car,  I'll 
reckon  I've  done  all  right.  Till  then" — Sunny  paused — 
"I'm  going  to  slog  in." 

Bert  grunted. 

"Nearly  got  put  away  for  singing  in  the  streets; 
that's  how  she  slogs  in,"  he  muttered. 

' '  Well,  it  was  an  idea,  anyhow, ' '  Sunny  said.  ' '  You've 
got  to  take  risks  in  the  world.  Why,  we  made  eight- 
pence  inside  three  minutes;  we'd  have  been  done  inside 
half  an  hour  if  that  cop  'adn't  come  along." 

"But  the  cop  did  come  along  all  right,"  Bert  said. 

"Your  name  is?" 


Sunny  Ducrow 


"Sunny,"  she  said.  "Leastways,  it's  reely  Elizabeth 
Ann  Ducrow." 

"Have  you  never  thought  of  the  stage?" 

'  '  Thought  of  it  !  "  Sunny  laughed.  '  '  I  '  ve  just  dreamed 
of  it!" 

"Would  you  like  to  go  on  the  stage?" 

Sunny  's  eyes  flashed,  but  she  said  nothing. 

"How  old  are  you?" 

"Sixteen  last  September,"  she  said. 

"You  look  older  —  no  younger;  at  least"  —  Miss  Mont- 
ressor  paused  —  "in  some  ways  you  seem  to  be  older,  a 
great  deal  older;  yet  you  have  the  face  of  a  child, 
and  —  "  she  hesitated  again.  "Sunny,  I  think  I  might 
help  you.  I  am  connected  with  the  stage.  I  -  " 

"You  —  you  are!"  Sunny  leaned  forward,  her  blue 
eyes  wide.  "  You're  on  the  stage  !  You  sing  and  dance 
and— 

Miss  Montressor  smiled. 

"I  do,"  she  said,  "sometimes.  But  we  are  talking 
about  you.  How  would  you  like  a  stage  life?" 

"I'd  love  it!"  Sunny  said.     "I  hate  pickles,  anyway!" 

The  girl  had  brought  the  tea  and  the  scones  and  cake, 
and  Sunny  and  Bert  did  justice  to  the  food. 

"Come  to  my  house  to-morrow.  Here  is  my  address. 
To-morrow  will  be  Sunday.  You  can  come,  Sunny?" 

"  I'll  come,  only  I  ain't  "  —  Sunny  paused  —  "  I  mean  my 
clothes  ain't  Sunday-going-to-meeting  ones  for  calling," 
she  said. 

"That  doesn't  matter  in  the  least  tome,"  Miss  Mon- 
tressor said.  '  '  You  can  read  ?  '  ' 

Sunny  nodded. 

"I've  got  to  in  our  business.  It  wouldn't  do  for  me 
to  go  and  stick  the  apricot  labels  on  the  strawberry  jam, 
would  it?  Nor  pickled  walnuts  on  pickled  onions, 
neither." 


At  the  Foot  of  the  Ladder         19 

Miss  Montressor  smiled. 

' '  Come  to-morrow.     I  shall  expect  you  at  two  o'clock. ' ' 

"  Me  and  Bert  will  be  there,"  Sunny  said. 

"There  is  not  any  need,  I  think,  for — for  Mr.  Bert — " 
Miss  Montressor  smiled.  "I  think  you  could  come 
alone,  Sunny." 

Sunny  shook  her  head. 

"Me  and  Bert  is  chums.  Where  I  go  he  goes,"  she 
said.  "Either  Bert  comes  with  me,  or  I  don't  come." 

"Very  well,"  Miss  Montressor  said  briefly,  "bring 
Bert."  She  rose  to  pay  the  bill.  "To-morrow  at  two, 
Sunny,"  she  said. 

"Right  you  are!"  Sunny  said. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   START 

"  TV  It  Y  opinion  is  that  it  is  talent — real  talent.     The  girl 

1 VI  is  absolutely  natural.  It  was  as  good  as  a  sketch 
to  see  and  hear  her  chat  with  the  magistrate;  it  took  the 
wind  out  of  the  old  fellow's  sails  completely.  She  is 
positively  refreshing,  Max." 

"Well,  you  ought  to  know,  I  suppose,"  the  man  said. 
"Who  is  she?" 

"A  little  girl  from  a  slum,  who  works  in  a  pickle 
factory  and  has  ambitions,"  Miss  Montressor  said. 

"She'll  want  training,  then." 

'•'Training  would  spoil  her;  you  want  her  as  she  is. 
She's  a  natural  artist,  and  she  has  the  most  beautiful 
hair  I  ever  saw." 

The  man  smiled.  He  was  thick-set,  sallow-faced,  and 
stout.  There  was  something  about  him  that  suggested 
at  a  glance  the  prosperous  theatrical  manager — possibly 
the  large  and  expensive  cigar  that  he  always  had  tucked 
in  a  corner  of  a  large  and  fleshy-looking  mouth. 

"I  don't  often  make  mistakes,"  Miss  Montressor 
said.  "You  remember  I  found  Lily  Birch." 

He  nodded. 

"She's  getting  thirty  quid  a  week  out  o'  me  now,"  he 
said.  "And  when  you  spotted  her  she  was  a  shop-girl." 

"This  girl  beats  her  hollow,"  Miss  Montressor  said. 
"There's  money  in  her,  Max,  you  wait  and  see.  Lily 
Birch,"  she  went  on,  "was  clever,  but  a  fool  in  a  way. 

20 


The  Start  21 

She  dances  nicely  and  she's  got  a  pretty  voice,  but  for 
the  rest  she's  a  fool.  This  girl  is  different.  She's  all 
life  and  sparkle  and  go,  utterly  without  self -consciousness, 
as  fresh  as  a  daisy,  and —  Oh,  you  needn't  smile,  Max." 
' '  I  like  enthusiasm,  Leslie, ' '  he  said.  ' '  You  are  always 
enthusiastic.  If  the  girl's  all — half  even  of  what  you 
say  she  is,  she  ought  to  be  a  small  fortune.  She's 


coming 


"She'll  be  here  almost  at  once." 

Miss  Montressor  rang  a  bell. 

It  was  a  large,  odd-looking  room — half  drawing-room, 
half  dining-room,  and  yet  neither  in  appearance.  There 
was  a  host  of  arm-chairs,  of  soft  cushions  lying  about  the 
floor.  The  carpet  was  thick  and  Eastern,  the  walls 
were  hung  with  hundreds  of  photographs  of  theatrical 
celebrities,  all  of  them  signed. 

"To  dear  old  Leslie,  from  So-and-so."  "Miss  Leslie 
Montressor,  with  respectful  compliments  of  someone 
else."  "Dear  old  girl,  yours  lovingly — "  The  usual 
thing.  Miss  Montressor  had  been  on  the  stage  from  the 
age  of  thirteen,  and  there  was  not  a  better-liked  woman 
in  the  profession. 

A  maid-servant  answered  the  ring. 

"I  am  expecting  a  yo  ng  girl,  Simmons,"  Miss 
Montressor  said  —  "a  poor ' '  —  she  paused  — ' ' rather 
shabby " 

"She's  at  the  door  now.  Been  twice  and  asked  for 
you,  and  I  told  her  to  go  away,  miss,"  the  girl  said. 
"There  she  is  slamming  at  the  door  again.  She  said 
she  had  an  appointment  with  you,  but  I  didn't  believe 
her.  Why,  you  can  see  her  toes  through  her  boots. 
Hark  to  her  now,  miss." 

Bang!  bang!  bang!  went  the  knocker  below. 

"Go  and  let  her  in  at  once,  Simmons,"  Miss  Mon- 
tressor said.  "It's  Sunny,"  she  said  to  the  man. 


22  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Anyhow,"  he  said,  "she  didn't  mean  to  be  left  out 
in  the  cold." 

He  rolled  his  cigar  between  his  fat  fingers  and  watched 
the  door.  He  was  interested.  Leslie  Montressor  rarely 
made  a  mistake.  She  had  found  the  girl  they  were 
talking  about  just  now  serving  ribbon  and  laces  behind 
the  counter  of  a  tenth-rate  milliner's  shop.  Her  eyes 
had  not  deceived  her.  The  girl  had  been  quite  a  success. 
She  was  doing  well,  and  he — Max  Hemmingway — had 
made  a  nice  little  profit  out  of  her. 

The  door  was  ajar.  From  the  staircase  came  the 
sound  of  a  clear,  ringing,  infectious  laugh.  There  was 
something  so  spontaneous  about  the  laugh  that  Mr. 
Hemmingway  himself  smiled. 

" Didn't  want  to  let  me  in!"  a  voice  cried.  " If  I  had 
come  rollin'  up  in  a  swell  motor-car  you'd  a  fell  over 
yourself  to  open  the  door.  Well,  don't  worry;  one  o' 
these  days  Fll  come  in  that  there  car!" 

Again  the  laugh,  then  the  voice  again,  a  little  nervous 
this  time. 

"Bert,  you  never  wiped  your  feet!  You  go  back  this 
moment  and  wipe  them  on  the  mat.  Soiling  the  car- 
pets !  When  I  get  my  best  carpets  down  in  my  salong, 
I  won't  let  you  come  in  till  I've  made  you  take  your 
shoes  off." 

There  was  a  pause.  Evidently  Bert  had  gone  back 
to  wipe  his  feet. 

"The  lad  is  no  use,  of  course,"  Miss  Montressor  said. 
"But  she  insisted  on  bringing  him!" 

And  now  the  door  was  pushed  open  and  Sunny  walked 
in.  She  was  quite  at  her  ease,  not  a  bit  abashed.  She 
looked  round  her  with  her  bright  eyes.  They  dwelt 
approvingly  on  the  luxury  and  the  good  taste  she  saw 
about  her.  She  knew  nothing  of  luxury,  and  had  had 
no  opportunity  in  her  short  life  of  indulging  in  good 


The  Start  23 

taste,  but  what  she  saw  she  liked.  It  was  not  only  that 
it  was  rich  and  costly,  but  it  looked  comfortable. 

"Nice  place  you've  got  here,"  she  said,  with  her  frank 
smile.  "Where's  Bert?  I  sent  him  back  to  wipe  his 
boots." 

"Sunny,  this  is  Mr.  Hemmingway,  a  great  theatrical 
manager,  I  have  asked  to  meet  you." 

Sunny  advanced;  she  held  out  her  hand  to  Mr. 
Hemmingway. 

"How's  yourself?"  she  said  cheerfully.  "Don't 
mind  me  if  you  want  to  light  your  segar.  Here's  Bert. 
Bert,  come  in!" 

He  looked  sheepish  and  ill  at  ease.  He  held  his  head 
down  and  shuffled  his  untidy  feet. 

"Bert,  hold  up  your  head,"  Sunny  said.  "Bert,  this 
is  Mr.  Hemmingwa}7'." 

Hemmingway  nodded.  He  was  looking  at  Sunny; 
he  had  no  time  for  Bert. 

Miss  Montressor  moved  closer  to  Mr.  Hemmingway. 

"Don't  ask  any  questions;  let  her  talk,"  she  whispered. 

He  nodded. 

"I  didn't  think  I'd  be  able  to  come,"  Sunny  said. 
She  sat  down  without  an  invitation  and  examined  the 
cover  of  the  chair.  "Nice  chair,"  she  said.  "I  like 
this  cover;  you — you  should  see  ours!"  She  laughed. 
"Aunt's  in  a  bad  way.  She's  been  having  too  many 
visits  from  Lizzie,  you  know — "  She  paused.  She 
winked  deliberately  at  Mr.  Hemmingway.  "It's  her 
weakness.  She  isn't  bad  other  ways,  but  when  Lizzie 
comes  to  see  her" — she  paused — "she  gets  talking  about 
what  she  used  to  be — like  this." 

A  sudden  and  indescribable  change  came  over  the 
girl.  It  was  wonderful.  She  drew  a  long,  pitiful  face; 
she  rocked  backwards  and  forwards  on  the  chair;  she 
made  little  moaning  sounds. 


24  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Oh,  them  old  days!"  she  whined.  "You  wouldn't 
believe!  I  'ad  me  own  parlor  and  a  ma'ogany  table  in 
the  middle;  and  the  feet  used  to  stand  on  lonelium,  so 
as  not  to  mark  the  carpet;  and  there  were  them  anti- 
macassars as  I  worked  as  a  gel.  Nothink  wasn't  too 
good  or  too  fine  for  me,  and  I've  come  down  to  this!" 
Again  she  rocked  and  moaned.  "And  I  ain't  'ad  a  drop, 
I  ain't,  the  live-long  day!" 

Bert  had  forgotten  his  nervousness. 

"That's  'er  aunt,"  he  said.  "That's  the  old  girl  to 
a  tee !  You  wouldn't  believe.  Why,  I  can  see  'er  sitting 
there  and " 

He  remembered  suddenly  where  he  was  and  closed  his 
mouth  abruptly. 

"Copy  anything,  Sunny  does!"  he  muttered.  "See 
'er  take  off  Bill  Wilkins;  it  'ud  make  you  split  your 
sides!  There  isn't  nobody  Sunny  can't  take  off; 
she'd " 

Again  he  shut  up  abruptly,  overcome  by  nervousness 

The  other  two  exchanged  glances.  Mr.  Hemmingway 
nodded  imperceptibly. 

"And  Miss  Montressor  tells  me  that  you  would  like 
to  get  on  the  stage,  my  girl,"  he  said. 

"I'm  going  to,"  Sunny  said.  "It  isn't  a  question  of 
liking.  When  I  want  to  do  a  thing  I  do  it!" 

"If  you  get  the  chance." 

"I  make  the  chance,"  she  said,  nodding  her  head. 
"I've  got  no  patience  with  people  who  sit  and  wait  for 
chances.  I  make  'em  and  take  'em.  That's  how  I  got 
into  the  pickle  factory.  They  didn't  want  a  girl.  I 
went  there  and  argued  with  Mr.  Johnson. 

"  'I  don't  want  no  girl,'  he  said";  instinctively  she 
mimicked  Mr.  Johnson's  rather  snarling  voice.  "  'I'm 
bunged  up  with  girls.  They're  falling  over  one  another 
doing  nothing.  They're  eating  up  my  profits.  You 


The  Start  25 

dear  out ! '  Well  I  didn't  go.  I  stopped  and  argued  with 
him.  There  was  some  pickle  jars  on  the  table,  and  I 
showed  him  how  the  labels  was  all  stuck  on  anyhow. 
I  told  him  that  he  wasn't  going  to  get  business  unless  he 
stuck  his  abels  on  straight.  I  said  I'd  come  and  stick 
labels  on  straight  for  him  for  four  shillings  a  week,  and 
I  give  him  permission  to  give  me  the  sack  the  first  label 
he  saw  on  crooked.  Well,  he  took  it.  I  ain't  'ad  the 
sack  yet!  That's  the  way  you've  got  to  make  people 
understand  what  you  want.  I'm  going  on  the  stage!" 
She  smiled  happily.  '  "I'm  going  to  get  there.  I  may 
get  on  next  week,  or  next  year,  or  the  year  after.  I 
don't  know,  but  I'm  going  to  get  there!" 

"Can  you  sing?"  Mr.  Hemmingway  asked  abruptly. 

"Not  as  you  could  notice!  I  make  a  funny  sort  of 
sound  with  my  mouth.  Some  call  it  singing.  I'll  show 
you,  if  you  like!" 

He  nodded.  She  rose  up  deliberately  and  sang. 
There  was  not  a  quiver  nor  a  suspicion  of  shyness;  her 
voice  was  as  clear  as  a  bell.  Sweet  and  tuneful  it  rose 
and  filled  the  room.  She  broke  off  abruptly. 

"I  don't  call  that  singing,"  she  said.  "What  you 
want  when  you  sing  is  a  band.  I'll  sing  to  a  band  one 
day;  you  see!" 

"I  think  you  will,"  he  said  slowly.  "Now" — he 
paused — "is  Sunny  your  name?" 

"Elizabeth  Ann  Ducrow;  Sunny  for  short,"  she  said. 

"I've  got  an  idea,  Sunny  Ducrow,  that  you  are  going 
to  get  on  in  the  world,  and  I'm  rather  inclined  to  think 
I  am  willing  to  give  you  your  first  chance." 

"When  do  I  start?"  she  said. 

He  rose  and  paced  the  room,  his  unlighted  cigar 
between  his  teeth. 

"I'm  running  two  theatres  in  town  and  a  couple  of 
music-halls  in  the  provinces,"  he  said.  "I'm  putting 


26  Sunny  Ducrow 

on  the  new  revue — Keep  off  the  Grass — in  a  fortnight's 
time.  Miss  Montressor  here  is  my  leading  lady.  I'm 
open  to  make  you  an  offer.  I'll  have  a  small  part  written 
in  for  you — a  coster  girl's  part." 

"Keep  it!"  Sunny  said  briefly. 

' '  What  do  you  mean  ? ' ' 

"I'm  not  going  to  play  no  corster  parts,"  she  said. 
"  When  I  go  on  the  stage  I'm  going  to  be  dressed  up  fine ! " 

"I've  got  an  idea,"  he  said.  "  I  dare  say  it  will  work. 
No,  it  won't  be  a  coster  part.  It  will  be  just  a  small 
part  to  commence  with — twenty  lines  perhaps,  not 
more.  I'll  start  you  at  two  pounds  a  week.  If  you  go 
well  the  first  night  I'll  have  an  agreement  drawn  up 
engaging  you  for  five  years  at  a  rising  salary.  Well? " 

"Three  years'll  be  long  enough,"  Sunny  said  quietly. 
"It's  no  good  tying  yourself  up,  is  it?" 

She  looked  at  him  so  innocently  that  he  laughed  in 
spite  of  his  annoyance. 

"You  are  evidently  no  fool,"  he  said.  "Well,  we'll 
talk  about  that  later.  Will  you  come  to  my  office  to- 
morrow ? "  He  paused,  he  looked  at  her,  he  put  his  hand 
into  his  pocket.  "I'll  make  you  an  advance — half  your 
first  week's  money — to  get  some  clothes,"  he  said. 

Sunny  shook  her  head. 

"I  don't  want  no  borrowed  money,"  she  said.  "I'll 
manage  somehow.  If  they  don't  like  my  clothes,  they 
can  do  the  other  thing.  What  sort  of  a  job  are  you 
going  to  give  Bert?" 

"  Bert ! "  He  looked  at  Bert.  Bert  looked  the  picture 
of  wretchedness.  He  sat  on  the  very  edge  of  the  chair 
trembling  with  nervousness.  "  I  shall  not  require  Bert, " 
Mr.  Hemmingway  said. 

She  rose;  she  nodded  to  him  and  held  out  her  hand 
to  Miss  Montressor. 

"I'm   going.     It's  no  use  me   wasting   your   time," 


The  Start  27 

Sunny  said.  ' '  You  see,  me  and  Bert  go  together.  We've 
been  chums  ever  since  I  went  to  the  pickle  factory. 
We're  going  on  being  chums.  If  Bert  don't  get  a  job 
along  with  me,  then  I  don't  take  it,  that's  all!" 

"But —  "  Miss  Montr essor  said. 

"That's  all!"  Sunny  said.  "Thank  you  for  letting 
me  come  and  see  your  nice  rooms!  One  day  I'll  have 
rooms  like  'em!"  She  nodded  to  Mr.  Hemmingway. 

"Wait!  "he  said.     "Wait!" 

He  looked  at  Bert.  Bert  looked  hopeless — the  picture 
of  supreme  misery.  He  did  not  want  Bert.  He  wished 
Bert  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  but  he  did  want  Sunny 
Ducrow. 

"Then  you  won't  come  to  me  unless  I  engage  your 
friend  Bert?" 

"No,"  Sunny  said.  "I  told  Bert  when  I  get  a  job 
he'd  get  one  in  the  same  place.  I'm  not  going  back  on 
my  word;  I  never  do.  Bert,  hold  up  your  head  and 
look  intelligent.  I  never  break  my  word,  do  I?" 

"No,  you  don't,  Sunny,"  he  said. 

"  There  it  is  then, "  she  said.     "  So-long ! " 

"Come  back!"  Mr.  Hemmingway  said. 

"Don't  miss  her,"  Miss  Montressor  whispered. 

He  shook  his  head.  Again  he  looked  doubtfully  at 
Bert.  Then  he  sighed. 

"I'll  give  your  friend  Bert  thirty  shillings  a  week  to 
walk  on,"  he  said. 

Sunny  smiled. 

"That's  all  right  then,"  she  said.  "You  see,  I 
couldn't  go  back  on  Bert  nohow.  I'll  come  to  your  old 
office  in  the  morning;  hadn't  you  better  give  me  a  card 
or  something?  Else  they'll  very  likely  shut  the  door  in 
my  face!" 

"Yes.     Here's  my  card.     You'll  come  at  eleven?" 

She  held  out  her  hand  frankly  to  him. 


28  Sunny  Ducrow 

"I'll  be  there  at  eleven  sharp,"  she  said.  "Good- 
bye!" 

She  was  gone.  They  heard  her  talking  as  she  went 
down  the  stairs.  , 

"  If  you  don't  hold  your  'ead  up,  Bert,  people'll  think 
you're  ashamed  of  your  face!"  she  said. 

Then  the  door  closed  on  them. 

"Well?"  Miss  Montressor  said. 

"She's  a  wonder!  If  she's  half  as  good  on  the  stage 
as  she  is  off  she'll  have  the  town  by  the  ears  in  a  month ! " 

"And  she  has  a  voice!" 

"Untrained,  but  a  voice  for  all  that — a  wonderful 
voice!  And  utterly  without  self-consciousness;  entirely 
natural!" 

He  nodded. 

"Leslie,  she's  a  find!  I  believe,  on  my  word,  that 
we've  found  something  worth  talking  about!" 

She  smiled  languidly. 

"I  never  make  mistakes,  Max,"  she  said. 

"How — how  you  could  cheek  them  like  you  do  beats 
me!"  Bert  was  saying  to  Sunny. 

"Cheek  who?"  Sunny 's  eyes  flashed.  "I  never 
cheek  no  one;  I  just  talk!"  she  said. 

"  I  call  it  cheek.  I  ain't  got  the  sauce  to  jaw  like  you 
do,"  he  said. 

"If  you  had  you'd  get  on  better  in  the  world,"  she 
said.  'Bert,  I  said  I'd  never  go  back  on  you.  It's 
good-bye  to  the  old  pickle  factory  this  journey!" 

He  nodded. 

"I'll  get  kicked  out  of  the  theatre  before  I've  been  on 
a  week,  "  he  said.  "Me!  I'm  no  good  for  the  stage! 
It's  all  right  for  you;  you're  a  girl  and  pretty  and — and 
like  that!" 

"Me  pretty — me!"  She  stared  at  him.  "Me,  with 
hair  like  this!"  she  said. 


The  Start  29 

"It  is  a  bit  red,  only  you  could  get  it  dyed  cheap,  I 
dare  say!" 

"Anyhow,"  Sunny  said,  "we're  making  a  fresh  start, 
we  are.  Two  pound  a  week  isn't  so  bad;  better  than 
eight-and-six."  She  paused.  "But  it's  going  to  be 
two  hundred!  You  never  know  your  luck.  Besides," 
she  added  confidentially,  "I'm  going  to  have  a  room  just 
like  that — sofy  cushions  on  the  floor  and  all.  You  wait 
and  see!" 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   CONTRACT 

MRS.  MELKIN  rocked  to  and  fro  in  her  chair. 
"Oh,  oh  dear,  if  you  won't  be  the  death  of  me!" 
she  said.     "The  trouble  you've  been*   goodness  only 
knows!    And  now  you're  telling  me  that  you're  going 
to  leave  the  pickles!" 

"Can't  keep  both  jobs  going,  can  I?"  Sunny  said. 

"An* — an'  going  on  the  stage!"  Mrs.  Melkin  groaned. 
"Giving  up  a  nice,  respectable,  comfortable  job  with 
the  pickles  and  going  on  the  stage,"  she  moaned. 

"To  better  myself,"  Sunny  said  cheerily. 

"Better  yourself!  Worser  yourself,  you  meafl! 
Nothing  reg'lar.  A  shilling  a  night  for  standing  round 
with  a  lot  of  other  gels  arid  li'ble  to  be  out  of  work  any 
time.  Oh,  oh  dear!  What  'ave  I  lived  to  see?  What 
'ave  I  lived  to  see?  It's  a  wonder  to  me  your  poor 
mother,  poor  Bee'trice,  isn't  a-turning  in  her  grave!" 

"Look  here,  aunt,"  Sunny  sa?id. 

"Don't  talk  to  me,  you  wicked,  ungrateful  girl,  after 
all  I  done,  after  all  the  pains  I  took  and  all — all  I 
done!" 

"You  didn't  get  me  the  pickle  job.  I  got  it  myself!" 
Sunny  said  defiantly. 

Mrs.  Melkin  rocked  to  and  fro.  She  only  uttered 
low,  moaning  cries,  like  a  soul  in  agony. 

Sunny  sniffed. 

"Of  course,  two  pounds  a  week  ain't  much  to  start 


The  Contract  31 

with.     It  ain't  by  a  long  sight  what   I  mean  to  get 
presently .    But ' ' 

Mrs.  Melkin  sat  bolt  upright.     She  stared  at  the  girl. 

"Two  p — two  pounds!"  She  gasped.  '"Go's  talk- 
ing of  two  pounds  a  week?" 

"I  am,"  Sunny  said.  "That's  what  'e's  going  to 
start  me  on.  'E  wanted  me  to  sign  for  five  years,  but 
not  me !  Three  years  is  enough,  as  I  told  him.  There's 
no  knowing  what  may  'appen  before  five  years  is  up." 

"And  you  mean  to  stand  there  and  tell  me,  Elizabeth 
Ann,  that  you've  been  engaged  for  the  stage,  and  you're 
to  get —  No,  I  won't  believe  it!" 

"Do  the  other  thing,  then,"  Sunny  said.  "Anyhow, 
it's  true.  Two  pounds  a  week  is  what  I  get  to  start 
with." 

"Elizabeth  Ann,  are  you  telling  me  the  truth?"  Mrs. 
Melkin  demanded.  "'Oo'd  give  a  gel  like  you  two 
pounds?  Don't  talk  to  me!" 

"All  right,  then!  Seeing's  believing.  You'll  believe 
when  you  see  me  come  on  Saturday  nights — Friday,  I 
believe  it'll  be — with  two  golden  pounds  in  my  'ands. 
Now,  you  cheer  up  and  don't  worry!"  Sunny  added. 
"I've  got  to  get  off  and  see  Mr.  Hemmingway  at  his 
orfice." 

There  was  a  weak  tap  on  the  door.     Sunny  turned. 

"  'Allo !     Is  that  you,  Bert  ? "  she  said. 
'  'Erbert  Jackson,  is  that  you?"  Mrs.  Melkin  said. 
"What  do  you  want?" 

"I  dunno,"  he  said.  He  came  into  the  room,  looking 
the  picture  of  misery. 

"Sunny,"  he  said,  "I  'ad  to  call  for  'er,  so  I  come." 

"Why  ain't  you  at  the  pickles?" 

"I  wish  I  was  for  some  things,"  he  said,  with  a  sniff. 
"I  don't  'old  with  this  'ere  stage  business." 

"You  ain't  got  no  pluck  nor  ambition,"  Sunny  said. 


32  Sunny  Ducrow 

" I  know  I  ain't,"  he  said.  "I  don't  want  any,  neither. 
I'll  get  the  strap  for  this  all  right — chucking  my  job. 
I  ain't  said  a  word  to  father  yet.  I  ain't  dared!"  He 
sniffed  miserably.  "When  I  do,  he'll  take  it  out  of  me 
all  right;  and  it'll  be  your  doing,  Sunny." 

"Oh,  come  on!"  Sunny  said.  She  took  a  last  look  at 
herself  in  the  very  discolored  piece  of  looking-glass 
over  the  mantelpiece.  She  had  taken  pains  with  her 
appearance  this  morning.  Hair,  face,  and  teeth  shone. 
She  had  spent  two  hours  sewing  up  the  very  worst  holes 
in  her  frock  and  her  boots,  but  the  result  was  not  striking. 

"What  the  end  of  this  'ere  foolery's  going  to  be  I 
don't  know,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said.  "Two  pounds!" 
She  shook  her  head  sadly.  She  had  no  belief  whatever 
in  the  two  pounds  a  week. 

Bert  hunched  his  shoulders.  He  sniffed  miserably 
and  dejectedly  as  he  trudged  by  Sunny's  side.  She 
skipped  along  the  pavement,  she  always  skipped  rather 
than  walked.  Bert  hunched  along  in  a  hopelessly  dejected 
fashion. 

"What's  going  to  'appen  is  this:  we'll  be  kicked  out!" 
he  said  lugubriously.  "They  don't  want  us.  It's  a 
joke.  We  been  and  lost  our  jobs  at  Johnson's,  and  it's 
your  fault.  It's  all  your  fault,  Sunny!" 

"Whatever  'appens,  it's  my  fault,"  Sunny  said  cheerily. 
"It'll  be  my  fault,  won't  it,  when  you're  getting  five 
'undred  a  year  and  riding  about  in  taxi-cabs,  Bert?" 

"Me?"  he  said.     "Me?    I  don't  think!" 

People  in  the  streets  turned  to  look  at  the  pair.  There 
was  something  so  fresh  and  so  happy,  so  full  of  life  about 
Sunny,  that  worn-out  folk  found  themselves  envying  the 
girl  her  wonderful  vitality.  Her  ragged  feet  scarcely 
seemed  to  touch  the  ground.  She  was  on  wires,  she 
was  a  fairy,  she  was  brimful  of  life  and  health  and  an 
immense  belief  in  a  great  future.  Bert  was  just  the 


The  Contract  33 

contrary.  He  believed  in  nothing  except  his  own  evil, 
bad  luck.  The  only  thing  he  really  believed  in  was  the 
strap,  with  which  his  father  treated  him  occasionally. 

The  Parkside  Theatre  was  an  immense  white  stone 
building.  It  looked  so  large,  so  imposing,  so  expensive, 
that  the  little  courage  that  had  been  left  in  Bert  oozed 
out  and  vanished. 

"I  ain't  a-going  in!"  he  said.     "Not  me!" 

"You  ain't  what,  Bert?  I'm  ashamed  of  you!"  Sunny 
said. 

She  stood  studying  the  bills,  with  which  the  front  of 
the  building  was  liberally  plastered. 

"KEEP    OFF    THE    GRASS!" 
The  Great  Revue  to  be  produced  Shortly 

MISS  LESLIE  MONTRESSOR  AND  MR.  HARVEY  DAGLAN, 
MISS  KITTY  DAMER,  MISS  BERTIE  BRISTOWE 

There  were  several  other  names,  but  Miss  Montressor's 
was  the  most  in  evidence. 

"See  that,  Bert?  That's  'er,  our  friend;  the  lady  as 
was  'ad  up  at  the  police-court  same  time  we  was,"  Sunny 
said.  "They  don't  'alf  advertise  'er,  do  they?" 

Bert  grunted.  He  did  not  care.  He  wished  himself 
back  at  the  pickle  factory.  He  was  thinking  of  the  strap. 

"Come  along!"  Sunny  said. 

She  marched  up  to  the  imposing  mahogany  and  plate- 
glass  swing-doors.  A  liveried  commissionaire  was  on 
duty. 

"  'Allo!"  he  said.     "What's  your  trouble?" 

"I'm  took  on  'ere,"  Sunny  said.  "I'm  come.  Why 
ain't  you  got  the  red  carpet  down,  and  no  band  or 
nothing?" 

He  looked  down  at  her. 


34  Sunny  Ducrow 

"You  get  out  of  this!"  he  said. 

Sunny  drew  herself  up. 

"I'm  an  actress;  I'm  engaged  here,"  she  said. 

"You!"  He  smiled  at  her.  "I  don't  think!  You 
nip  round  to  the  stage-door  if  you've  got  any  business. 
'Ere!"  he  shouted.  "You've  forgot  to  take  this  with 
you!"  He  pointed  at  Bert. 

"Come  along,  Bert,"  Sunny  said.  "We  come  to  the 
wrong  entrance.  That  chap,"  she  said  to  Bert  outside, 
"one  of  these  days  he'll  be  opening  my  carriage  door 
for  me,  he  will;  you  see!  Nice  place,  ain't  it?"  She 
stared  at  the  walls.  "Sunny  Ducrow.  You'll  see  that 
name  plastered  all  over  them  walls  one  of  these  days, 
Bert,  and  Bert  Jackson  too,  if  I  know  anything!" 

"  I  wish  I  was  back  at  the  pickles ! "  he  said. 

They  found  the  stage-door.  There  was  a  man  in  a  sort 
of  ticket  office  there.  He  looked  over  the  ledge  down  at 
Sunny. 

"Well?  "he  said. 

"Quite  well,  thank  you!  'Ow's  yourself?"  she  said 
cheerily. 

"I  mean,  what  do  you  want  here?" 

"Me?  I'm  come.  I'm  engaged — least,  I'm  going  to  be 
soon.  Mr.  Hemmingway  in?' 

"Mr.  Hemmingway  is  here,  but  he  hasn't  time  for 
you." 

"Don't  you  believe  it!"  Sunny  said.  "I  got  an 
appointment  with  him." 

"Well,  you  can't  see  him.  He's  with  Mr.  Rostheimer." 

"I  don't  care  if  he's  with  the  King  of  Russia!  You 
tell  him  I'm  here — Sunny  Ducrow.  That's  the  name. 
I  got  an  appointment  with  him  at  eleven;  it's  eleven 
now!" 

"You  clear  off!"  the  man  said.  He  had  seen  Sunny 's 
boots;  that  was  enough  for  him.  No  one  with  such 


The  Contract  35 

boots  was  likely  to  have  an  appointment  with  Mr.  Hem- 
mingway — the  great  Mr.  Hemmingway. 

"Come  on,  Bert,"  Sunny  said. 

But  instead  of  turning  away,  she  pushed  open  a  small 
door.  The  man  shouted  after  her,  but  it  was  useless. 
Sunny  had  gone  in,  so  had  Bert.  He  could  not  leave 
his  box. 

"Anyhow,  someone'll  pitch  'em  out!"  he  thought. 

Quite  where  they  had  got  to  Sunny  did  not  know,  but 
she  did  not  admit  that  she  was  nonplussed  even  to  her- 
self. She  found  herself  in  a  dark  place,  which  seemed 
to  be  in  a  terrible  condition  of  untidiness.  Now  and 
again  she  tripped  over  something;  once  she  ran  into 
something.  Stumbling,  floundering,  she  clutched  Bert 
by  the  hand  and  dragged  him  unwillingly  forward. 

"Hallo!    Who  are  you?    What  do  you  want,  kid?" 

"I'm  eome  to  see  Mr.  Hemmingway.  Which  is  his 
office?" 

"That's  Mr.  Hemmingway 's  office  if  you  want  to 
know,"  the  man  who  had  spoken  to  her  said.  "But  he 
hasn't  time  for  you.  Come  on,  clear  out ! " 

But  Sunny  had  learned  all  that  she  wanted  to  know. 
This  was  Mr.  Hemmingway's  office,  and  Mr.  Hemming- 
way's  office  was  the  place  she  was  in  search  of.  The 
man  was  descending  on  her  with  the  evident  intention 
of  putting  her  outside,  but  she  dodged  him.  She  made 
a  dash  for  the  door  in  front  of  her,  opened  it,  and  whirled 
into  the  room,  dragging  the  reluctant  Bert  with  her. 

"Den  tousand  bounds,"  someone  was  saying.  "I 
dell  you  that  it  haf  gost  ten  tousand — "  The  speaker 
paused.  "Vat's  dat?"  he  said. 

"  "Ad  a  nice  job  to  find  you,  I  did!  We've  come,  me 
and  Bert." 

"So  I  see,"  Mr.  Hemmingway  said.  "Sony,  I  can't 
attend  to  you  just  now.  Mr.  Rostheimer  is " 


36  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Oh,  don't  mind  me!  I'll  wait,"  Sunny  said.  She 
looked  round  and  saw  a  chair.  She  sat  down.  "Sit 
down,  Bert!"  she  said. 

"Vat's  dis  choke?"  the  over-stout  gentleman  who 
was  talking  to  Mr.  Hemmingway  demanded.  ' '  Who  is  dis 
girl  ?  Himmel !  Look  at  her  boots ! ' ' 

Sunny  thrust  out  her  feet. 

"A  bit  off,  ain't  they?"  she  said.  "But  that  don't 
matter.  There's  plenty  more  where  they  come  from. 
You  go  on  with  what  you  were  talking  about,  and  don't 
mind  me.  Me  and  Be  it'll  chat  till  you're  through." 

The  stout,  Jewish-looking  man  looked  at  Mr.  Hem- 
mingway. 

"The — the  girl  I  was  speaking  to  you  about,"  Mr. 
Hemmingway  whispered.  "One  of  Miss  Leslie  Mon- 
tressor's  finds." 

"Soh!  Goot — eh?  Ligely  to  be  a  paying  brobosition, 
eh?" 

Hemmingway  nodded. 

"  I  think  so.  You  never  know.  She  may  take  on,  it's 
just  a  chance." 

"Der  bublic  swallow  all  kinds  of  rubbish,"  the  other 
man  said. 

Mr.  Hemmingway  nodded. 

They  continued  their  conversation  in  low,  guarded 
voices.  Large  sums  of  money  were  mentioned  frequently. 
Sunny  did  not  want  to  listen.  She  tried  to  talk  to  Bert 
in  an  undertone,  but  for  all  that  she  heard  "Den 
tousand  bounds"  being  mentioned  somewhat  frequently. 

"I  wish  I  was  out  of  this,"  Bert  grunted.  "I'd  give 
somethink  to  find  myself  back  at  the  pickles!" 

"Hold  your  head  up!"  Sunny  said.  "And  keep  smil- 
ing. What's  the  use  of  growling?  You're  going  to  get 
thirty  bob  a  week,  ain't  you?" 

"I  dunno,"  he  said.     "It's  a  dream!" 


The  Contract  37 

"Miss  Ducrow!" 

Sunny  started.  For  perhaps  the  first  time  in  her  life 
she  had  been  addressed  in  this  fashion. 

"That's  me!"  she  said. 

She  sprang  up. 

"Dugrow!  Dat's  a  bretty  good  name,  ain't  it?"  Mr. 
Rostheimer  said.  "Where  did  you  ged  dat  name?" 

"I  didn't  get  it,  it  got  me!"  Sunny  said.  "It  was 
'anging  about  before  I  was!" 

"With  regard  to  our  conversation  yesterday,"  Mr. 
Hemmingway  said,  "I  have  had  a  form  of  agreement, 
a  contract,  drawn  up,  binding  you  for  five  years  at " 

"I  said  three,"  Sunny  said.  "I  didn't  say  five.  You 
know  very  well  I  said  three.  You  hank  about  and  I'll 
make  it  two,  I  will!" 

He  laughed. 

"Three  then,  it's  my  mistake,"  he  said.  "You're 
going  to  take  a  small  part  in  the  revue,  Keep  off  the  Grass. 
I  am  getting  our  author  to  write  it  up  for  you.  A  few 
lines,  of  course " 

"Just  to  start  with,  only  you'll  want  more  presently," 
Sunny  said.  "No  corsters,  though." 

"No,"  he  said;  "no  coster  part.  This  is  the  idea," 
he  said.  "You  are  the  long-lost  daughter  of  a  Cabinet 
Minister — see?" 

Sunny  nodded. 

"What's  a  Cabinet  Minister?"  she  asked. 

"Well,  that  doesn't  matter  now.  He  is  a  man  in  a 
very  high  position,  stiff  and  starchy,  very  dignified.  You 
follow?" 

"Yes!    Fire  away !"  Sunny  said.    , 

"His  child  is  stolen  when  a  baby,  and  she's  been 
brought  up  by  poor  people.  She  had,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  been  working  in  a  pickle  factory.  The  low  com- 
edy man  discovers  her  and  returns  her  to  her  father. 


38  Sunny  Ducrow 

There's  a  big  drawing-room  scene.  The  comedy  man 
brings  you  in.  Got  the  idea?" 

Sunny  nodded.  "I  see;  and  it  gives  my  father  fits 
when  he  finds  out  what  I'm  like!" 

"That's  it,  you've  got  the  idea!  You've  got  to  act 
naturally.  Of  course,  you  don't  get  many  lines  first, 
but  if  you  go  on  well,  we'll  lengthen  your  part.  You'll 
be  here  for  rehearsal  to-morrow  morning  at  ten." 

"And  what  about  Bert?" 

"Oh,  him — "  Hemmingway  paused.  "I'll  find 
him  a  corner  in  the  chorus,  I  dare  say!" 

"It  ain't  any  dare  say  about  it!"  Sunny  said.  "You 
promised  Bert  thirty  bob  a  week;  either  you  take  'im 
or  you  don't  take  me — say  which!" 

"That's  arranged,"  he  said.  "I  give  Mr. — ahem! — 
Bert  thirty  shillings  a  week  in  the  chorus.  No  contract 
will  be  necessary  in  this  case." 

"Not  yet,  but  it  will  later,"  Sunny  said. 

Mr.  Hemmingway  rang  a  bell.  A  young  man  came 
in  and  brought  with  him  some  official-looking  papers. 

"Just  sign  your  name  here,"  Mr.  Hemmingway  said. 
"It's  the  usual  form  of  contract.  No  need  to  read  it. 
It's  only  a  waste  of  time." 

"What!  Me  sign  my  name  to  somethink  I  ain't 
read!  That  ain't  me!"  Sunny  said.  "No,  thanks! 
I'm  a-going  right  through  this  lot  before  I  write  a  word ! " 

"Oh,  very  well!  Go  and  sit  down  and  read  it  then," 
he  said. 

"If  you  and  this  gentleman  have  got  anything  more  to 
say,  don't  mind  me,"  Sunny  said  pleasantly. 

She  went  to  the  window  and  sat  down  and  slowly 
spelled  her  way  through  the  agreement.  There  were 
words  here  and  there  that  she  did  not  understand .  When 
she  came  across  one  she  called  Mr.  Hemmingway's 
attention  to  it  and  demanded  an  explanation. 


The  Contract  39 

Mr.  Rostheimer  sat  looking  at  Sunny  out  of  the 
corners  of  his  eyes.  She  had  annoyed  him  at  first,  now 
he  found  himself  slightly  interested.  The  sun  shone 
in  through  the  window  and  touched  her  head  bent  over 
the  papers.  It  turned  her  wonderful  hair  into  living  fire. 

"She  don'd  vant  to  vear  a  vig  any,"  he  muttered  to 
Mr.  Hemmingway. 

Bert  sat  on  the  very  edge  of  his  chair,  looking  and 
feeling  intensely  miserable.  He  was  going  over  in  his 
mind  the  events  as  they  would  take  place  at  this  time  at 
the  pickle  factory.  He  pictured  himself  in  the  boiling- 
room,  with  the  sour  smell  of  the  boiling  vinegar  making 
him  feel  sick,  as  it  always  did.  He  wished  from  the 
bottom  of  his  heart  he  could  smell  the  boiling  vinegar 
at  this  moment,  but  he  could  not. 

"That  seems  all  right.  Lend  us  a  pen,"  Sunny  said. 
"Two  pounds  a  week  to  start  with,  and  to  be  raised  in 
accordance  with  the  part  played.  You've  got  here  five 
years;  I've  crossed  it  out  and  I'll  write  three." 

"Where  is  id  that  you  get  so  beautiful  hair?"  Mr. 
Rostheimer  asked  her. 

"Me?"  Sunny  said.  "Beautiful  you  call  it!  I  got 
it  same  as  I  got  my  name.  I  didn't  arst  for  it,  it  was 
served  out  to  me,  I  s'pose!" 

He  stretched  out  his  fat  hand  to  finger  the  glowing 
locks ! 

"Hands  off ! "  Sunny  said.     "Hands  off ! " 

She  drew  her  small  self  up  with  a  wonderful  dignity. 
Mr.  Hemmingway  smiled  as  she  bent  over  the  document. 

"  What's  der  matter?  Mosd  girls  would  feel  fladdered 
dat  I  dake  any  notice  of  dem,"  Mr.  Rostheimer  said. 

"Very  well,  you  go  and  take  notice  of  them  as  like  it, 
not  me!" 

"One  day  you  ged  sorry  if  you  don'd  look  out!"  Mr. 
Rostheimer  said. 


4*>  Sunny  Ducrow 

Sunny  looked  at  him. 

"You  run  away  and  play!"  she  said  briefly. 

Mr.  Rostheimer — the  man  of  millions,  the  man  who 
was  financing  the  most  gorgeous  revue  that  had  ever 
been  put  on  any  stage — gobbled  and  choked. 

"You're  an  imberdinent  girl!"  he  said. 

"And  you,  you're  a  nice  old  gentleman,"  Sunny  said. 
"Oh,  what's  the  use  of  quarrelling?"  She  held  out  her 
hand  suddenly.  "I  don't  want  to  quarrel  with  no  one. 
I  dare  say  my  'air's  all  right  for  them  as  like  it.  One 
day  I'm  a-going  to  dye  it  black." 

Mr.  Rostheimer  hesitated.  He  looked  at  the  glowing 
face,  the  dazzling  white  teeth  revealed  by  Sunny's  broad 
smile.  He  hesitated  for  an  instant,  then  he  put  his 
large,  fleshy  paw  into  hers. 

"That's  all  right,"  Sunny  said.  "It's  no  good 
beginning  by  'aving  rows." 

"Quide  ride;  you're  a  nice  liddle  girl,  and  you'll  go 
far,"  he  said.  "Hemmingway,  dis  girl  will  go  far." 

Mr.  Hemmingway  nodded. 

" That's  what  I  mean  to  do,"  Sunny  said.  "  I'm  going 
to  have  my  name  stuck  up  all  over  the  walls  here  before 
I'm  done.  You  mind  what  I  say.  One  of  these  days 
you'll  come  up  and  see  it — Sunny  Ducrow.  It'll  be  in 
the  biggest  letters,  and  stuck  all  over  the  place." 

"You  dink  you  are  going  to  ged  on  in  der  world?" 
he  said. 

"I  don't  think,  I  know!"  she  said.  "I  made  up  my 
mind  to  get  on,  and  I'm  going  to!"  She  thrust  out  a 
stubborn  little  chin.  "You  watch  me,  mister!  I'm 
for  the  top;  you  see!" 

He  laughed  good  naturedly. 

"All  ride;  I'll  helb  you,  perhaps,  if  you  are  a  goot  girl!" 

"And  I  don't  want  any  help,  neither,"  Sunny  said. 
"I'm  going  to  do  it  alone." 


The  Contract  41 

"We'll  see,"  he  said. 

"We'll  see,"  she  said. 

The  document  was  signed.  Sunny  wrote  her  name, 
"Elizabeth  Ann  Ducrow,"  laboriously  underneath. 

"And  now,  one  small  matter,"  Mr.  Hemmingway 
said.  "You'll  have  to  come  here  to  rehearsals,  Miss 
Ducrow.  Your  salary  will  be  half  during  rehearsals. 
I  am  willing  to  advance  you,  say,  five  pounds  to  get  the 
necessary  things " 

"Not  me!  I  don't  want  no  money  advanced,"  Sunny 
said.  "  Nor  doesn't  Bert !" 

"But — "     He  looked  at  her  clothes,  at  her  boots. 

"I  do  bedder  dan  dat,"  Mr.  Rostheimer  said.  He 
took  out  a  fat  pocket-book  and  from  it  a  five-pound  note. 
"Dat  ain'd  an  advance.  Dat  a  bresent  to  ged  some 
preddy  tings  to  suit  your  preddy  face  mit." 

"What's  this  ?"  Sunny  said.     She  looked  at  the  note. 

"For  you — a  liddle  present,"  he  said. 

"Keep  it!"  Sunny  said  briefly.  "When  I  want 
presents  I'll  ask  for  one.  Thanks  all  the  same!"  She 
smiled  at  him  and  held  out  her  hand.  "No  offence 
meant  and  none  took,"  she  said.  "Come  on,  Bert!" 

The  two  men  looked  at  one  another  when  the  door 
had  closed  on  Sunny  and  the  mournful  Bert. 

"Curious!"  Mr.  Hemmingway  said.     "Original,  eh?" 

Mr.  Rostheimer  took  out  his  handkerchief  and  mopped 
his  forehead. 

"You  mark  my  vords!"  he  said.  "Dat  girl  vill  drive 
some  feller  crazy  one  of  dese  days!" 

"I've  got  an  idea  that,  with  luck,  she'll  drive  the 
public  crazy!"  Mr.  Hemmingway  said. 

Mr.  Rostheimer  nodded. 

"I  believe  you!"  he  said.     "Yes,  I  believe  you!" 


CHAPTER  V 

GETTING   ON 

FOR  the  first  time  in  her  life  Sunny  had  received  a 
parcel.  It  had  come  from  a  well-known  Wesr 
End  shop. 

"I  don't  know  nothing  about  it!"  Mrs.  Melkin  said. 
"It  come  by  a  cart.  There  it  is!" 

Sunny  opened  the  parcel.  It  contained  a  dress,  some 
underclothing,  and  a  good  pair  of  boots,  but  as  to  who 
sent  it  there  was  no  indication. 

"Someone  trying  to  do  me  a  turn,"  she  said.  "I 
wish  they  wouldn't,  whoever  it  is.  It's  about  my  size, 
too!" 

It  was  a  plain  but  neat  and  serviceable  dress  of  black 
serge.  It  was  the  very  first  brand-new  dress  Sunny  had 
ever  owned  in  her  life.  She  put  it  on  and  looked  at 
herself  in  the  glass. 

"I  wish  I  knew  who  sent  it!"  she  said;  "I'd  send  it 
back.  I  don't  want  favors  from  no  one!" 

"You're  an  ungrateful  child!"  Mrs.  Melkin  said. 
"After  me  savin'  and  scrapin' — "  She  paused. 

"You — you" — Sunny  gasped — "you  got  me  this?" 

Mrs.  Melkin  hesitated. 

"Well,  if  I  did,  ain't  you  my  own  sisters  child?"  she 
said.  "What's  the  'arm?  I  like  to  see  you  look  niee, 
I  do;  and  me  saving  and  scraping " 

"You  old  darling!"  Sunny  said. 

She  believed  it.  She  believed  that  her  aunt  had  sent 

42 


Getting  On  43 

her  the  clothes,  while,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  Mrs.  Melkin 
knew  no  more  about  it  than  Sunny  did. 

"Scraped  and  scraped,  I  did!"  she  said.  "Put  it  by, 
bit  by  bit,  for  you,  Elizabeth  Ann!" 

"You're  an  old  dear!"  Sunny  said.  "I'd  take  from 
you  what  I  wouldn't  take  from  no  one  else!" 

She  was  wearing  the  new  dress  and  boots  and  the  new 
hat  the  following  day  when  she  met  Bert. 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  but  said  nothing. 

"A  present  from  aunt!"  she  said.  "How  do  I  look, 
Bert?" 

He  looked  at  her  and  blinked  with  his  melancholy 
eyes. 

"You  look  a  fair  knock-out,  Sunny!"  he  said.  "Sort 
of  make  me  wonder  all  the  time  if  it  is  you!" 

"It's  nothing  to  the  clothes  I'll  have  one  day!"  she 
said.  "Come  on!" 

They  hurried  on.  They  had  to  be  at  rehearsal  at  ten. 
This  time  there  was  no  difficulty  about  their  admittance. 
The  man  in  the  little  box-office  smiled  good  morning 
to  Sunny. 

"Got  your  little  lamb  with  you  still,  I  see!"  he  said, 
looking  at  Bert. 

What  happened  after  that  Sunny  could  remember 
only  as  a  confused  kind  of  dream.  She  found  herself 
on  a  huge  stage.  There  were  no  footlights.  The  great 
auditorium  was  a  black  void,  through  which  shrouded 
candelabra  glimmered  in  ghostly  fashion. 

Someone  was  shouting  and  raving.  There  were  a 
number  of  girls  and  a  number  of  young  men  who  were 
going  through  some  kind  of  a  performance. 

"Now,  then,  you're  in  the  chorus,  aren't  you?" 

Bert  found  himself  roughly  torn  from  Sunny's  side. 
He  was  hurled  into  a  corner  among  a  lot  of  young  men, 
who  looked  at  him  superciliously. 


44  Sunny  Ducrow 

They  were  going  through  a  kind  of  dance,  accom- 
panied by  a  song.  Now  they  thrust  out  their  right  arms 
and  moved  a  step  towards  the  centre  of  the  stage. 

They  were  singing  something  about  a  girl  from  Ohio. 
Sunny  watched  them;  she  watched  Bert.  Bert  looked 
intensely  unhappy.  He,  too,  thrust  out  his  right  arm 
and  took  a  step  with  the  rest.  He  was  trying  to  sing, 
but  he  was  woefully  out  of  tune.  Sunny  smiled.  Little 
by  little  she  began  to  laugh.  Others  standing  about  her 
followed  the  direction  of  her  eyes  and  saw  Bert.  Then 
they  laughed.  Soon  everyone  was  laughing. 

"  That  chap  at  the  end  there  looks  like  a  funeral !  For 
goodness*  sake  kick  him  away!"  someone  said.  "Look 
at  him!" 

"Leave  him  alone!"  It  was  Mr.  Hemmingway  who 
had  come  on.  "Leave  him  alone!"  He  looked  at 
Bert.  "Say  nothing  to  him.  Let  him  go  on  his  own 
way.  I've  got  an  idea ! ' ' 

"He's  spoiling  the  chorus,"  the  stage-manager  said. 

"I've  got  my  own  ideas,  Jakes!"  Mr.  Hemmingway 
said.  "Let  that  fellow  alone  for  the  present,  at  any 
rate." 

"Very  good;  as  you  like!"  Mr.  Jakes  said.  "Now, 
then,  ladies  of  the  chorus!"  he  bellowed.  "Come  on, 
you!"  He  glared  at  Sunny.  "You  are  in  the  chorus, 
I  suppose !  Hurry  yourself ! ' ' 

Sunny  walked  deliberately  across  the  stage. 

"Where  have  I  got  to  stand?"  she  asked. 

"Get  into  your  place!"  the  stage-manager  bellowed. 

A  girl  made  room  for  Sunny. 

"He's  in  one  of  his  tantrums  this  morning;  got  out  of 
bed  the  wrong  side!"  she  muttered.  "He's  a  beast  any 
time — sometimes  a  worse  beast  than  others.  What's 
your  name?" 

"Sunny.     What's  yours?" 


Getting  On  45 

"Sunny  what?" 

"Funny  our  names  should  be  alike,  isn't  it?"  Sunny 
said.  "  Mine's  Sunny  Ducrow  and  yours  is  Sunny  Watt. 
Who  give  you  that  name?  I  mean  you  wasn't " 

"Silence!"  shouted  the  stage-manager. 

"Now,  then,  ladies!" 

The  orchestra  struck  up  and  the  chorus  burst  into 
song.  Sunny  did  not  sing  for  the  simple  reason  she  was 
hearing  the  chorus  for  the  first  time. 

"Sing  up!"  the  stage-manager  yelled  at  her.  "Hang 
it,  what  are  you  here  for?" 

"Not  to  be  hollered  at  by  you!"  Sunny  said. 

There  was  a  sudden  and  deathly  silence. 

"What's  that?"  the  manager  demanded. 

"  What  I  said  is,  'ow  can  I  sing  up  when  I  don't  know 
the  blooming  song?"  Sunny  said. 

"You  ought  to  know  it!" 

"Ought !  How  can  I ?  Could  you  know,  for  instance, 
'ow  to  make  raspberry  jam  first  go  off  out  of  apples  and 
coloring  and  flavoring  and  bird-seed?  You  couldn't  do 
it,  could  you,  unless  you  was  showed  'ow?" 

He  stared  at  her. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,  but  I  do 
know  this:  if  you  want  to  find  yourself  outside " 

"  I  don't,"  Sunny  said,  "  and  I  ain't  going  to !  So  keep 
your  hair  on,  mister!" 

"You'll  get  fired,  sure ! "  the  girl  beside  Sunny  muttered. 

"Not  me!"  Sunny  said.  "But  I  ain't  goin'  to  be 
'ollered  at  by  no  one.  Wilkins  at  the  factory  tried  it 
once,  then  he  gave  up;  so'll  he!" 

Mr.  Hemmingway  was  talking  to  the  stage-manager 
in  a  low  tone. 

"Oh,  very  well,  but  I  can't  have  mutiny  among  the 
chorus.  You'll  have  to  shift  her  out  of  it  if  she  goes  on 
on  those  lines,"  Mr.  Jakes  said. 


46  Sunny  Ducrow 

He  altered  his  tone  and  his  manner  a  few  moments 
later  as  Miss  Montressor  came  on  the  stage.  She  had 
a  song  to  sing,  which  she  sang  exquisitely.  Even  the 
chorus  left  off  whispering  to  listen  to  her.  Tears  stood 
in  Sunny's  eyes  when  she  had  finished. 

' '  Sing  your  head  off  and  your  heart  out  of  you,  can't 
she?"  she  whispered.  "Lor',  what  wouldn't  I  give  to 
sing  like  that !  I  know 'er,  too."  She  paused. 

Miss  Montressor,  her  song  finished,  looked  round. 
She  saw  Sunny,  and  came  straight  to  her. 

"Well,  little  girl,"  she  said  pleasantly,  "so  you  are 
here!  And  how  smart  you  look!" 

She  took  Sunny's  hand  in  hers  and  held  it  while  she 
was  talking  to  her;  the  other  girls  looked  on  enviously. 
Leslie  Montressor  was  a  great  star;  to  know  her  in- 
timately, as  this  girl  seemed  to,  was  an  honor  not  to 
be  scoffed  at.  They  looked  at  Sunny  with  new  respect. 
So,  too,  did  the  stage-manager.  It  was  noticeable  that 
he  left  Sunny  alone  after  that. 

"How  did  you  get  to  know  her  like  that?"  the  girl 
who  had  stood  next  to  Sunny  asked. 

"Me  and  her  was  had  up  at  the  same  police-court. 
I  don't  know  what  she  was  charged  with,"  Sunny  said, 
"but  me  and  Bert  was  had  up  with  singing  in  the  streets. 
We  got  off;  so  did  she,  it  seems." 

The  girl  laughed;  she  thought  it  was  some  joke  of 
Sunny's. 

"  My  name  is  Daisy  de  Venn,"  she  said. 

"You  tole  me  just  now " 

"No,  I  didn't;  it  was  your  mistake.  I  said  'Sunny 
what?'  I  mean  what  was  your  other  name." 

"I  am  an  idiot,  ain't  I ? "  Sunny  said. 

"I'll  introduce  you  to  the  others.  They  are  rather  a 
decent  lot,  take  them  all  round.  How  about  your  dresses 
for  the  chorus?" 


Getting  On  47 

"I  ain't  bothering,"  Sunny  said. 

"But  you'll  have  to  see  the  Wardrobe  about  them." 

Sunny  nodded. 

"I  will;  only  there  ain't  no  hurry  as  I  know  of.  Be- 
sides, I  shan't  want  them  long." 

The  other  girl  looked  at  her. 

"You'll  want  them  for  the  run,  unless  you  get  fired." 

Sunny  shook  her  head. 

"I  shan't  stop  long  in  the  chorus,"  she  said.  "Not 
that  it  isn't  all  right  being  in  the  chorus,"  she  added; 
"only  I  prefer  to  have  a  part  of  my  own." 

"I  dare  say  you  do,"  Miss  de  Venn  laughed.  "So 
would  most  of  us.  But  parts  don't  grow  on  every  tree, 
my  girl." 

"It's  a-growing  on  the  tree  I'm  sitting  under,  and 
presently  one's  going  to  drop  on  me!"  Sunny  said. 

When  the  first  strangeness  had  worn  off,  Sunny 
adapted  herself  to  circumstances  with  ease.  She  learned 
the  words  of  the  choruses  and  the  necessary  actions; 
even  the  stage-manager  had  no  fault  to  find  with  her. 
He  was  not  naturally  a  bad-tempered  or  evilly  disposed 
man,  as  most  of  the  girls  thought ;  but  the  stage-manager 
life  is  not  all  beer  and  skittles  when  a  big  new  production 
is  being  made  ready,  as  he  told  Sunny  one  day  when 
they  were  the  best  of  friends. 

Sunny's  part  as  the  long-lost  daughter  rescued  from 
the  pickle  factory  was  of  the  briefest.  It  consisted  of 
something  under  twenty  lines,  which  she  learned  thor- 
oughly inside  half  an  hour.  She  was  what  is  called  a 
"quick  study." 

"It  don't  hardly  seem  worth  while  me  getting  myself 
up  and  all  the  rest  of  it  to  come  on  and  say  just  that!" 
she  said  to  Bert. 

"You  ought  to  have  a  song,"  he  said. 

"I  ought;  but  I  ain't  got  one.' 


48  Sunny  Ducrow 

"I  was  thinking  about  a  song  as  'ud  suit  you,"  Bert 
said. 

"You!"  she  said.     "Why  don't  you  write  it  out?" 

Bert  nodded  gloomily. 

"I  s'pose  everyone'll  laugh  at  it  if  I  do;  but  I'll  have 
a  shot  at  it.  I  got  the  strap  the  other  night  all  right," 
he  added  cheerily.  "Father  gave  it  to  me  when  he 
heard  about  me  leaving  the  pickle  factory." 

"Bound  to,"  Sunny  said.     "Did  it  hurt,  Bert?" 

"Same  as  usual  'bout,"  he  said  thoughtfully.  "I'll 
have  a  shot  at  that  there  song  to-night,"  he  added.  He 
went  his  way. 

"Got  the  song?"  Sunny  asked  him,  as  they  met  the 
next  morning  on  their  way  to  rehearsal. 

Bert  nodded. 

"It  didn't  turn  out  as  well  as  I  thought,"  he  said. 
"No  one  'ud  look  at  it.  It's  no  good.  Any'ow,  here 
you  are."  He  brought  out  a  dirty  piece  of  paper,  and 
Sunny  stopped  in  the  roadway  to  read  the  pencilled  words. 

"Bert,  you  never  wrote  this!"  she  said. 

"Me'     I  did!"  he  said.     "Why  not?" 

"Why,  it's  fine!  It  suits  splendid!  I'm  going  to 
take  it  straight  to  Mr.  Hemmingway." 

"It's  no  good.  He'll  turn  it  down;  very  likely  kick 
us  both  out,"  he  said.  "What's  the  use? " 

"I'm  a-going  to  take  it  to  him,  anyhow,"  Sunny  said. 

"Well,  Miss  Ducrow?"  Mr.  Hemmingway  asked  a 
trifle  impatiently  some  hours  later. 

Sunny  came  smiling  into  the  office. 

"Me  and  Bert  has  been  talking,"  she  said.  "Bert 
thinks  as  my  part  'ud  go  better  if  I  had  a  song  to  sing." 

"I  dare  say,"  he  said  dryly.  "Now,  I'm  busy;  I'm 
sorry,  but " 

"So  Bert  wrote  a  song  that  he  thought  might  do. 
Here  it  is.  It's  called  Piccalilli  Lily,  and " 


Getting  On  49 

"I've  got  no  time,"  he  said.  "It's  not  a  bad  idea, 
but " 

"Here  it  is,"  Sunny  said.  She  thrust  the  dirty  scrap 
of  paper  in  front  of  him. 

Mr.  Hemmingway  glanced  at  it.  He  hesitated,  then 
he  took  it.  He  read  it  through.  It  was  not  bad.  It 
commenced: 

"I'm  Piccalilli  Lily, 
And  I  work  in  Piccadilly, 
A-sticking  of  the  labels  on  the  jam " 

"Who  wrote  this?"  he  asked. 

"Bert  did — done  it  out  of  his  own  head,"  Sunny  said. 
"He  thought  I  might  sing  it." 

" Leave  it  here,"  he  said  briefly.     "I'll  think  about  it." 

"Have  a  look  through  this."  Mr.  Hemmingway  said 
some  time  later  to  the  musical  director,  "and,  if  you 
think  you  can  manage  it,  hang  some  sort  of  a  tune  to  it. 
The  metre  seems  all  right." 

Signer  Posetti  nodded.     He  looked  at  the  paper. 

"Nice  swing,"  he  said.  "Ter  umity,  tumity,  tumity 
— Yes,  all  right.  I'll  go  over  it  presently." 

For  three  days  Sunny  heard  no  more  about  the  song. 
Bert  had  forgotten  it,  except  that  he  had  a  vague  idea 
that  he  would  be  dismissed  for  having  dared  to  write  it. 

Sunny  had  been  at  rehearsal  a  week.  She  had  made 
a  few  friends  and  perhaps  one  or  two  enemies.  Girls 
whose  natures  had  soured  a  little  by  years  of  neglect, 
by  years  of  having  to  remain  in  the  background  while 
they  saw  others  and  newer-comers  forge  ahead,  disliked 
her. 

"Wait  till  the  first  night,  she'll  go  to  pieces,"  they 
said.  And  they  hoped  that  they  would  prove  true 
prophets. 

"Miss  Ducrow  wanted,"  someone  said. 


5°  Sunny  Ducrow 

Sunny  went.  She  found  Mr.  Hemmingway  with  the 
musical  director. 

"  That  song,"  Mr.  Hemmingway  said.  "  Signor  Posetti 
has  set  it  to  music.  Think  you  can  catch  the  tune?" 

"Try  me,"  Sunny  said. 

The  signor  sat  down  at  the  piano  in  the  office  and 
played  the  air.  It  was  a  very  catchy,  bright  air — the 
very  thing  for  the  words.  The  words  had  been  altered 
a  little  here  and  there,  but  they  stood  much  as  Bert  had 
written  them. 

"Got  it?"  Mr.  Hemmingway  asked. 

Sunny  nodded.     She  hummed  the  tune  to  herself. 

"Lively,  isn't  it?  Wonderful  being  able  to  write  out 
music  like  that.  I  should  not  have  been  able  to  think 
of  it  in  a  thousand  years." 

Signor  Posetti  smiled.  He  was  open  to  a  little  flattery, 
and  this  was  genuine  admiration.  He  looked  at  her 
kindly. 

"Now,  den,  we  try  it  over,  yes,"  he  said.     "Come!" 

His  supple  fingers  touched  the  keys. 

"Don't  be  frightened,"  Mr.  Hemmingway  said. 

"Not  me,"  Sunny  said.  She  smiled,  showing  her 
white  teeth.  With  the  original  paper  in  her  hand  to 
guide  her  in  the  matter  of  words,  Sunny  sang  the  song 
over.  Never  once  did  her  ear  play  her  false;  she  had 
got  the  tune  marvellously. 

"I'd  like  to  do  it  again.  I'll  do  it  better  next  time," 
she  said  eagerly. 

"All  right,"  Mr.  Hemmingway  said.  "Sorry  to 
trouble  you,  Posetti." 

This  time  Sunny  let  herself  go.  She  put  more  than 
words,  she  put  actions  into  her  song. 

"Fine,"  Hemmingway  said  briefly.  "You'll  da 
Send  Jackson  to  me." 

Sunny  hurried  back  to  the  stage. 


Getting  On  51 

"It's  all  right,"  she  whispered  to  Bert.  "They've 
put  wonderful  music  to  your  song,  and  I'm  to  sing  it. 
Mr.  Hemmingway  wants  to  see  you  at  once." 

"  It's  the  sack,"  Bert  muttered.  "  I  knew  it.  It's  all 
up."  He  went  wretchedly. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  came  back.  There  was  a  mysti- 
fied look  on  his  face ;  in  his  hand  a  piece  of  paper  crackled. 

"Gave  me  five  pounds  for  the  rights  of  the  words," 
he  said  to  Sunny.  "Five!  Look!  I  dare  say  it's  a 
bad  'un,  though." 

Sunny  laughed. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  FIRST  NIGHT 

WHAT  was  it,  that  terribly  sinking  sensation,  that 
feeling  of  fear  that  never  before  in  her  life  had 
assailed  her?  She  could  not  understand  it.  It  fright- 
ened her  and  worried  her. 

"What's  the  matter  with  me?"  she  demanded  of  her- 
self. She  felt  cold,  she  shivered  a  little,  her  hands  were 
trembling. 

It  was  the  long-looked-for,  the  hardly-worked-for 
first  night.  It  had  come  at  last.  The  great  theatre 
was  brilliantly  illuminated,  the  orchestra  was  already  in 
its  place,  playing  the  overture.  Here  on  the  stage, 
Sunny  and  all  the  girls  of  the  chorus  had  taken  their 
places,  and  Sunny  felt  queer. 

"Got  the  shivers?"  Daisy  de  Venn  asked.  "I  know. 
I  had  'em  myself.  But  they'll  go  off  presently,  you  see." 

"  I  hope  so.  I  can't  get  over  it,"  Sunny  said.  "  I  feel 
as  cold  as  cold,  and  yet  I  ain't  frightened.  Why  should 
I  be?  There's  nothing — "  She  paused.  The  or- 
chestra was  playing  the  opening  chorus,  the  great  curtain 
rolled  up,  and  there  before  her  Sunny  saw  spots  of  white 
— thousands  and  thousands  of  white  spots,  it  seemed  to 
her,  drifting  about  in  a  sea  of  fog.  The  spots  of  white 
were  the  faces  in  the  audience;  the  fog  existed  only  in 
her  imagination.  She  still  felt  cold,  but  she  was  sing- 
ing; she  was  going  through  actions  almost  mechanically. 

Mrs.  Melkin  was  in  the  gallery.  She  had  been  pre- 
52 


The  First  Night  53 

sented  with  a  gallery  ticket.  She  was  probably  pointing 
Sunny  out  to  her  immediate  neighbors,  and  describing 
how  for  years  she  had  slaved  and  striven  and  scraped, 
all  for  Sunny's  benefit. 

The  chorus  was  over;  the  girls  took  up  their  positions 
at  the  back  of  the  stage. 

Now  Miss  Montressor  came  on,  to  be  greeted  by  a 
storm  of  applause.  Then  Harry  Kibble,  who  was  almost 
as  popular — a  fine,  handsome-looking  young  fellow. 
But  Sunny  still  felt  worried  and  nervous.  Every  mo- 
ment her  nervousness  increased.  She  was  thinking  of  the 
scene  in  the  second  act  when  she  came  on  alone;  when 
she  alone  must  take  the  stage;  when  she  knew  she  would 
not  be  sheltering  behind  the  girls  in  the  chorus.  It 
would  be  up  to  her  then,  and  she  would  have  to  sing 
Bert's  song. 

"I  shan't  never  do  it,"  Sunny  thought.  "I  thought 
myself  clever,  didn't  I?  I  didn't  know.  I  feel  like  I 
was  wishing  I  was  back  at  the  pickle  factory." 

The  first  act  was  over.  No  one  seemed  to  notice  that 
there  was  anything  wrong  with  Sunny. 

She  met  Bert  behind  the  scene. 

"How  do  you  feel?"  he  asked. 

"All  right,"  she  said.  She  smiled  at  him.  Bert, 
deluded,  went  away. 

It  was  the  second  act  that  she  dreaded — the  great  ball- 
room scene  where  she  was  to  take  the  stage  and  sin;; 
her  song. 

"I  wish  I  didn't  never  have  a  song,"  she  thought. 
"I'll  break  down.  I  can't  do  it!  Sunny  Ducrow 
you've  got  to  do  it!  There  won't  be  no  motor-cars, 
nor  nice  flats  with  sofy  cushions  on  the  floor,  nor  nothink 
for  you  if  you  don't  do  it,  my  girl!" 

She  did  not  take  her  place  in  the  chorus  when  the 
curtain  went  up  on  the  second  act.  She  had  changed 


54  Sunny  Ducrow 

into  the  ragged  dress  of  the  girl  from  the  pickle  factory. 
It  was  an  exaggerated  dress.  It  was  coming,  coming, 
coming!  Every  moment  now  was  bringing  her  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  ordeal. 

"Sunny  Ducrow,  pull  yourself  together,  my  girl!  It's 
your  chance;  your  chance  has  come  at  last — the  chance 
you've  been  waiting  for  and  looking  for.  Go  on,  I'm 
ashamed  of  you!"  she  muttered  to  herself. 

"Miss  Ducrow!"  the  call-boy  was  shouting. 

Heavens,  never  had  she  winced  before  at  the  sound  of 
her  own  name!  How  she  got  there  she  did  not  know. 
She  found  herself  standing  on  the  stage  by  the  wings. 
Her  moment  had  come.  It  was  here!  Someone  gave 
her  a  little  thrust  forward  and  she  stepped  on  to  the 
brilliantly  lighted  stage — one  little  figure  on  which  the 
attention  of  the  gieat  audience  was  focused.  Yes,  it  was 
her  hour,  the  moment  of  her  life.  She  felt  that  she 
wanted  to  turn  and  run  for  it;  fly  for  her  life;  hide 
herself  somewhere. 

Everyone  was  looking  at  her.  Good  heavens,  she 
had  to  say  something!  What  was  it  she  had  to  say? 
What  were  the  words  she  had  spoken  so  glibly  for  weeks 
now  at  rehearsal?  Why  did  people  stare  so?  Where 
was  Bert?  Oh,  there  he  was,  standing  in  the  opposite 
wings,  looking  wretched  and  dejected.  Sunny  could 
also  very  distinctly  see  a  sneer  on  the  faces  of  some  of 
the  chorus  ladies  who  were  dressed  in  ball  costumes. 
What  was  it  she  was  expected  to  say?  She  racked  her 
brains;  she  closed  her  eyes.  She  opened  her  mouth. 
She  said  something,  what  she  hardly  knew.  She  heard 
someone  laughing.  The  laugh  was  taken  up;  it  rippled 
through  the  house. 

Then  suddenly  a  wild,  mad  idea  came  to  her.  She 
walked  deliberately  to  the  footlights;  she  looked  over 
the  sea  of  faces. 


The  First  Night  55 

"Give  us  a  chance!"  she  said.  "I'm  only  a  girl  from 
the  pickle  factory.  I  ain't  never  been  on  the  stage  before. 
It's  took  it  out  of  me.  I  don't  know  whether  I'm  on 
my  head  or  on  my  heels.  Don't  howl  me  out !  It's  the 
chance  I've  been  waiting  for,  for  years  and  years — ever 
since  I  was  so  high!"  She  paused. 

Someone  in  the  audience  applauded.  It  was  taken 
up.  In  a  moment  the  house  was  roaring  applause  and 
encouragement  to  her.  And  then  suddenly  it  was  gone 
— the  nervousness  was  past.  She  was  herself  again. 
She  stood  there,  smiling  at  them,  while  they  clapped  their 
hands  and  stamped  their  feet  at  her.  What  had  she 
said  or  done?  Only  one  thing  Sunny  knew.  These 
people  here  in  front  were  her  friends.  They  wished  her 
well. 

"God  bless  'em  all!"  she  thought. 

Sunny  heard  a  voice  from  the  wings;  the  voice  was 
addressing  her. 

"Go  on,"  it  said;  "talk  to  them!" 

Talk  to  them!  Of  course  she  would  talk  to  them! 
She  had  not  the  slightest  fear  of  the  audience  now;  it 
was  with  her.  These  people,  whose  faces  seemed  as 
innumerable  as  the  stars  in  the  heavens  on  a  brilliant 
night,  were  her  friends;  they  wanted  to  hear  her  talk. 
Very  well,  she  would  talk ! 

"Some  o'  you,"  she  said — "some  o'  you  as  is  married, 
very  like  you've  got  gels  of  your  own,  maybe  about  as 
old  as  me.  I  ain't  seventeen  yet."  She  paused.  "Well, 
if  your  gel  was  to  get  a  chance  like  I  got,  you'd  like  to 
see  her  take  it,  wouldn't  you?  You'd  feel  hurt  and  sore 
about  it  if  it  was  took  away  from  her."  She  paused. 
"It's  like  that  with  me.  I  been  waiting  for  my  chance. 
I  used  to  work  in  a  pickle  factory,  sticking  on  labels. 
I  never  put  on  one  crooked  all  the  time  I  was  there. 
Ask  Mr.  Johnson  and  Bill  Wilkins!" 


56  Sunny  Ducrow 

"That's  right,  Sunny!"  roared  a  voice  from  the 
gallery.  "You  never  put  on  a  crooked  label  nor 
done  a  crooked  thing  in  your  life,  gel.  Good  luck  to 
you!" 

"That's  Bill!"  she  said.  Her  face  beamed.  "Good 
old  Bill!  I  ain't  afraid  of  him  now,"  she  said  confiden- 
tially. "Come  to  that,  I  never  was  wonderful  afraid 
of  him."  She  paused.  "Well,  sticking  on  labels  wasn't 
no  cop,  day  arter  day,  week  arter  week,  sticking  labels 
on  pickles  someone  else  was  going  to  eat.  There  ain't 
much  in  that  game  anyhow,  and  all  the  time  I  used  to 
be  thinking,  one  day  I'll  get  my  chance.  Well" — she 
paused — "I  got  it!  It's  come,  and  you're  going  to  see 
fair  play,  ain't  you?"  She  paused  again. 

There  was  no  need  for  her  to  renew  her  question. 
There  was  something  so  fresh  and  so  original,  so  naive, 
in  the  simplicity  of  her  little  speech  that  the  audience 
was  swept  off  its  feet.  It  might  be  acting,  it  might  be 
real,  it  might  all  be  part  of  the  performance,  including 
the  interruption  just  now  from  the  gallery,  but  whatever 
it  was,  it  had  been  so  well  done,  there  had  been  such  an 
undercurrent  of  pathos  through  it  all,  such  an  appeal  to 
their  good  nature,  that  they  answered  to  it  nobly. 

They  had  applauded  Miss  Montressor  in  the  first  act, 
but  that  was  nothing  to  the  chorus  of  approval  and  the 
hand-clapping  that  they  awarded  to  Sunny. 

She  was  herself  again.  She  had  not  the  slightest 
trace  of  fear  left.  She  smiled  to  them  and  nodded;  she 
kissed  her  hand,  and  then  she  went  on  with  her  part. 
She  forgot  nothing.  Her  memory  was  as  fresh  as  it 
had  been  at  rehearsal. 

Her  part  was  not  much — a  few  words  and  the  song. 
But  the  song  went  with  a  swing.  At  the  end  of  the 
second  verse  she  had  the  major  part  of  the  house  joining 
in  the  chorus: 


The  First  Night  57 

"  I'm  Piccalilli  Lily, 
I  work  in  Piccadilly, 
A-sticking  of  the  labels  on  the  jam. 
And  you  don't  think  I'm  silly, 
A-sticking  tight  to  Billy, 
He's  a  soldier-boy  in  khaki — and  a  man! " 

There  was  not  much  in  it,  but  Bert  shifted  nervously 
from  foot  to  foot  as  he  heard  his  words  being  roared  out 
by  the  pit  and  the  gallery.  They  encored  her  three 
times,  and  she  had  to  sing  the  last  verse  over  that  number 
of  times  before  they  would  let  her  go.  Then  it  was 
over.  Her  little  part  was  done.  Little  as  it  had  been, 
it  had  engrossed  the  house  for  four  times  the  original 
length  of  time  allotted  to  it. 

Mr.  Hemmingway  was  in  the  wings. 

"By  thunder!"  he  said.  "By  George!"  He  looked 
at  her.  Then  he  composed  his  face  into  a  frown.  ' '  What 
does  this  mean,  Miss  Ducrow?"  he  asked  sternly. 

"What  does  what  mean?"  she  asked. 

"Why  this.  You  had  your  part.  What  was  that 
speech  you  made  to  the  audience?" 

"Oh,  I  'ad  to  say  something,"  she  said.  "I  couldn't 
stand  there  looking  like  a  stick.  My  part  'ad  clean 
gone — hooked  it  out  of  my  head.  For  the  life  of  me,  I 
couldn't  remember  a  word,  I  couldn't!  I  'ad  to  say 
something,  so  I  said  just  what  come  into  my  head. 
Funny  Bill  Wilkins  being  there,  ain't  it?" 

"Very!"  he  said  grimly.  "In  future,  Miss  Ducrow, 
you  will  content  yourself  with  speaking  the  lines  written 
for  you.  You  understand  me? " 

"Anyhow,  it  didn't  go  so  dusty.  I  don't  see  what 
.you're  grousing  about!"  she  said. 

"Look  here,  young  woman,  if  I  allowed  every  actor 
and  actress  to  chat  to  the  audience  as  you  did,  how  do 
you  think  the  revue  would  go  on?  Where  should  we  be 


58  Sunny  Ducrow 

by  midnight?  We  shouldn't  have  got  through  the  first 
act.  Besides,  it's  not  the  thing;  it's  not  the  usual. 
You  stick  to  your  lines  in  future!" 

"All  right ! "  Sunny  said.     " I'm  sorry ! " 

Mr.  Hemmingway  turned  away  to  hide  a  smile  that 
he  could  not  repress.  Of  course  he  was  right.  This 
sort  of  thing  would  not  do  at  all.  There  would  be  an 
end  to  organization  and  routine,  an  end  to  all  law  and 
order,  and  an  end  to  stage-management. 

"I  wonder  'oo  it  was  give  me  the  tip  to  go  on  talking 
to  'em?"  Sunny  wondered.  "Couldn't  have  been  old 
Hemmingway,  yet  I  thought  it  sounded  like  his  voice!" 

Sunny  hurried  to  the  dressing-room  that  she  shared 
with  the  other  ladies  of  the  chorus. 

"Well,  if  you  haven't  got  a  cheek!"  they  greeted  her. 

"  Me !    What's  the  matter  now  ? ' ' 

"Standing  there,  spouting  all  about  yourself  and  your 
chance,"  one  said.  "You've  got  a  nerve.  I  expect 
Uncle  Hemmingway  will  give  you  the  push-out  to- 
night!" 

"And  a  good  thing  too,"  another  girl  said,  with  lofty 
disdain.  "It  was  a  cheap  bit  of  business  altogether. 
As  for  the  song,  it  was  rotten!" 

Sunny  smiled.  She  looked  round.  On  many  of  the 
faces  was  an  expression  that  she  immediately  knew  for 
jealousy.  It  was  the  surest  sign  that  she  had  made  a 
success,  if  the  others  were  jealous  of  her. 

Sunny  did  not  know  much  of  the  world,  but  she  knew 
a  good  many  things  instinctively. 

She  was  changing  for  the  third  act,  and  she  hummed 
to  herself  as  she  did  so  the  refrain  of  her  own  song.  It 
was  certainly  a  very  catchy  tune. 

"  Shouldn't  be  surprised  if  they  had  that  there  tune  on 
the  orgins  in  a  day  or  two." 

"Oh,  don't  flatter  yourself,"  one  of  the  girls  said. 


The  First  Night  59 

Miss  Idalia  Clifton  had  from  the  start  made  herself 
particularly  obnoxious  to  Sunny.  It  was  she  who  had 
Started  the  raid  against  Sunny  when  she  had  come  to 
the  dressing-room. 

"The  organs  don't  touch  potty  songs  of  twopenny- 
ha'penny  beginners;  it's  the  stars'  songs  they  want." 

"All  right,  I'm  going  to  be  a  star,  then,"  Sunny  said. 
"Don't  you  worry." 

' '  You  a  star ! ' '  The  girl  laughed  shrilly.  She  laughed 
more  shrilly  and  more  ill  temperedly  because  she  had  a 
faint  suspicion  that  Sunny  might  be  right.  A  girl  from 
a  pickle  factory  coming  in  here,  blowing  in  and  calmly 
stepping  over  the  heads  of  other  girls,  older  than  herself, 
who  had  served  their  apprenticeship  in  the  chorus,  and 
had  worked  hard.  It  was  disgraceful.  It  was  all  due 
to  favoritism. 

"It's  like  this,"  Sunny  said.  She  had  completed  her 
change.  She  leaned  against  the  wall  under  a  gas- 
bracket and  looked  about  her  at  the  other  girls.  ' '  When- 
ever I  start  doin'  a  thing,  I  mean  to  get  on,  whether  it's 
sticking  labels  on  pots,  or  being  an  actress,  or  anything 
else.  I  didn't  see  no  future  in  sticking  on  labels.  You 
know  what  I  mean.  I  couldn't  see  myself  rolling  about 
in  a  motor-car  and  'aving  a  nice  little  flat  with  sofy  cush- 
ions lying  about  on  the  floor,  and  seeing  my  name  in  the 
papers  every  morning  like  this  here: 

"  'Last  evening,  Sunny  Ducrow,  the  well-known  and 
popular  hand  at  Johnson's  pickle  factory,  stuck  on 
four  hundred  and  seventy-five  labels  in  an  hour  and  a 
half.  A  portrait  of  this  beautiful  and  talented  young  lady 
appears  on  page  three.'  "  Sunny  paused.  "I  didn't 
see  anythink  of  the  sort  coming  my  way  in  the  pickle 
factory,  so  I  stuck  on  till  my  chance  come,  and  here  I 
am.  If  I  don't  make  good  as  an  actress,  I'll  start  some- 
thing else — artist  or  something,  I  don't  care.  Anyhow, 


60  Sunny  Ducrow 

one  way  or  another,  I'm  going  straight  up  top  at  some- 
thing. The  bottom,  or  half-way  up,  or  even  three- 
quarters  ain't  going  to  be  good  enough  for  Sunny  Ducrow. 
You  take  it  from  me,  girls,  it's  only  them  who  want  to 
get  on  as  gets  on.  And  that's  me." 

"Stupid  little  idiot,"  Miss  Clifton  said.  "If  impu- 
dence and  cheek  will  get  on,  I  expect  you'll  be  a  star, 
but  it  won't  be  merit."  She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
"And  such  hair!"  she  added  audibly.  "It's  simply 
awful!" 

Sunny  nodded. 

"It's  a  bit  red,  but  it's  just  like  it  was  served  out  to 
me.  It  ain't  lovely  gold,  like  yours,  because  I  ain't  'ad 
the  money  to  get  it  turned  yet." 

There  was  a  laugh  at  Miss  Clifton's  discomfiture. 
She  was  not  popular. 

"Third  act,  ladies  of  the  chorus!"  piped  a  voice. 

Sunny  hurried  out  with  the  rest.  It  was  a  magnificent 
scene,  representing  the  gaming  rooms  at  Monte  Carlo. 
She  and  the  other  chorus  girls  were  in  evening  dress. 
The  gentlemen  of  the  chorus  were  also  in  evening  dress. 
They  looked  smart  and  well  set  up,  a  fine-looking  set  of 
young  fellows  in  their  well-cut  clothes,  their  grease  paint 
and  nicely  made-up  eyelashes. 

"Bert,  for  goodness'  sake  'old  up!"  Sunny  whispered. 
Bert  in  evening  dress  was  not  a  success — his  clothes 
looked  considerably  too  large  for  him,  his  make-up 
was  abominable. 

The  stage-manager  glared  at  him. 

"You  keep  out  of  sight,"  he  said,  "confound  you! 
Can't  someone  see  that  this  idiot  makes  up  properly. 
He  looks  like  a  low  comedian." 

"Me!"  Bert  said  wretchedly.  "What's  the  matter? 
Ain't  I  put  on  enough  black  round  my  eyes?" 

'"Old  your  row!"  Sunny  said. 


The  First  Night  61 

They  took  their  places,  the  curtain  went  up. 

In  this  act  the  young  hero  was  going  to  ruin  himself 
at  the  tables  in  making  a  desperate  bid  for  fortune  in 
order  that  he  might  marry  the  girl  he  loved.  He  loses 
everything,  the  lights  are  turned  low,  the  chorus  ladies 
and  gentlemen  depart  silently,  the  hero  produces  a  nickel- 
plated  revolver  and  points  it  to  his  forehead;  then  he 
sings  a  song,  and  before  he  quite  gets  through,  the 
heroine  enters.  She  has  had  better  luck  at  the  other 
tables — she  has  made  a  fortune.  She  tells  him  that  it  is 
all  well — that  his  uncle,  a  large  soap-boiler,  is  dead,  and 
that  he  had  inherited  seventy  thousand  a  year.  It  was 
very  touching,  so  touching  that  Bert  was  visibly  moved. 
He  forgot  to  sing.  When  the  time  came  for  the  chorus 
to  silently  depart,  Bert  forgot.  He  stood  there,  staring 
at  the  hero. 

"Come  off,  you  fool!"  someone  whispered. 

Bert  did  not  hear,  or,  hearing,  believed  the  hero  was 
the  person  referred  to. 

Through  the  whole  operation  Bert,  utterly  uncon- 
scious that  he  was  the  last  rose  of  summer  blooming 
alone,  stood  watching  the  antics  of  the  hero. 

In  the  semi-darkness  it  did  not  so  much  matter.  The 
audience  might  be  led  to  believe  that  his  presence  there 
was  part  of  the  play.  But  when,  with  the  arrival  of  the 
heroine,  the  lights  went  up  and  Bert  was  disclosed  stand- 
ing open-mouthed  and  alone,  people  began  to  stare  at 
him.  What  was  he  to  do  with  this  scene,  anyway?" 

"Come  off,  you  pie-faced  fool!"  someone  whispered 
huskily.  "Come  off,  you  blithering  numskull,  you 
lopsided,  turnip-headed  deaf  mute !  Come  off,  you ! 

The  beautiful  heroine,  Miss  Montressor,  was  coming 
down  the  stage. 

' '  Jack,  your  Uncle  Marmaduke  is  dead.  All  that  he  had 
is  yours.  You  are  a  rich  man,  and  I — I  will  be  your  wife," 


62  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Come  off,  you  unmentionable  ass!" 

Bert  heard  it.  It  dawned  on  him  that  he  was  the 
person  referred  to.  He  looked  about  him;  he  seemed 
suddenly  to  waken  up  from  his  sleep.  Where  were  the 
companions  of  his  youth,  the  brave  and  beautiful  young 
gentlemen  he  had  been  associated  with  up  to  a  short 
time  ago?  Gone,  gone,  every  one  of  them  and  he  was 
here  alone,  alone!  He  gasped,  his  eyes  rolled,  he  stood 
rooted  to  the  stage. 

"Jack,  we  are  rich!  I,  too,  have  won  fifty  thousand 
pounds  this  very  night  by  the  secret  system  that  the 
old  woman  I  saved  from  being  run  over  by  the  motor-, 
car  taught  me !  Oh,  Jack ! ' ' 

"Oh,  my  lor'!"  Bert  gasped.  He  gasped  it  out  loud. 
He  turned  and  bolted  towards  the  wings  like  a  rabbit, 
altered  his  mind,  stood  confused,  then  bolted  back  across 
the  stage. 

The  audience  roared,  they  cheered.  Miss  Montressor 
had  to  pause.  The  orchestra  was  just  striking  up  the 
popular  air  of  the  love  duet  that  would  finally  bring 
down  the  curtain.  It  had  to  wait  and  strike  up  over 
again. 

Bert  tripped,  he  fell  sprawling,  his  hat  rolled  one  way. 
He  got  up,  dazed  and  terror-stricken,  then  he  bolted 
back  across  the  stage  again. 

"Help,  help!"  he  gasped  feebly.  "Help!  Here, 
stop  a  minute!  Wait  for  me!  I " 

Hands  grasped  him  and  whirled  him  out  of  sight,  and 
the  audience  sat  back  to  laugh,  to  laugh  till  the  tears 
rolled  down  their  faces  and  their  sides  shook. 

Miss  Montressor  and  Mr.  Harvey  Daglan,  the  young 
hero,  were  too  good  and  experienced  actors  to  be  put  out 
by  a  thing  of  this  kind.  They  filled  the  break  with 
dumb  show.  Then  the  laughter  subsided  at  last,  the 
orchestra  struck  up  the  popular  air  of  the  love  duet  and 


The  First  Night  63 

it  went  with  a  swing;  it  brought  the  house  down  on  a 
grand  finale. 

Bert  hung  limply  inside  his  clothes,  which  the  stage- 
manager  was  holding  by  the  coat  collar. 

"What's  to  be  done  with  a  blithering,  hopeless  imbecile 
like  this?"  the  stage-manager  demanded.  "Here,  my 
beauty,  this  is  your  first  and  last  appearance  on  any 
stage.  This  night  you  go  out  into  the  cold  and  wet — 
see?" 

"What  have  I  done?"  Bert  moaned  feebly.  "I  only 
forgot!" 

"Forgot!  forgot!  Oh!"  The  stage-manager  shook 
him.  "You  forgot,  and  nearly  ruined  the  duet!  Men 
have  been  slain  for  less! — see?" 

"I'm  very  sorry,"  Bert  said  miserably.  "I  was 
thinking." 

"You're  done,"  the  manager  said — "done  here  for 
good.  Mr.  Hemmingway  what  about  this  fellow?"  he 
asked,  as  the  general  manager  appeared. 

Mr.  Hemmingway  paused. 

"We'll  have  to  work  that  bit  of  business  in  somehow, 
Jakes,"  he  said.  "It  went  well." 

"Work  it  in?"  Jakes  gasped. 

"Of  course!  It  went  with  a  bang.  Man  alive,  we 
can't  afford  to  lose  a  laugh  like  that!  We'll  rehearse 
this  to-morrow  morning,  please." 

Mr.  Jakes  released  Bert.  He  gasped  at  him.  "Well, 
I'm  blowed!"  was  all  he  could  say. 


CHAPTER  VII 

GOOD  REPORTS 

••'T'O  think  that   I  should  ever  see   the  day!"  Mrs. 

1  Melkin  moaned.  "  Oh,  oh !  To  think  I  should  ever 
see  the  day!" 

,     "What  day?"  Sunny  asked.     "'Ave  you  got  them 
pains  in  your  insides  again,  aunt?" 

"No,  I  ain't;  I'm  overcome!"  Mrs.  Melkin  rocked 
to  and  fro. 

Sunny  looked  at  her. 

"Well,"  she  said.     "What  hurts  you?" 

"Come  to  my  arms.  I  always  did  say  as  I  knew  you'd 
be  a  great  actress,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said.  "Elizabeth  Ann 
Ducrow,  I  am  proud  of  you!  I  feel  'appy  to  think  as 
my  bringing  up  of  you  'as  resulted  in  this." 

"Oh  that,"  Sunny  said.  "Don't  you  worry,  I  ain't 
properly  begun  yet." 

"No,  you  ain't  begun  yet,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said,  "but 
you've  made  a  start,  Elizabeth  Ann  Ducrow,  and  I  can 
see  you  rolling  about  in  your  carriage,  I  can." 

"No,  you  can't,"  Sunny  said.  "I  ain't  going  to  roll 
in  no  carriage,  I'm  going  to  sit  up  straight,  and  proper, 
lam." 

" That's  what  I  mean,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said.  "Elizabeth 
Ann,  what  about  our  moving?" 

"Moving?"  Sunny  said. 

"Moving  from  'ere — from  these  'ere  apartments," 
Mrs.  Melkin  said. 

64 


Good  Reports  65 

"Time  for  that  later  on,"  Sunny  said. 

She  looked  at  the  squalid  attic.  It  had  served  them 
well  enough  for  years,  it  would  serve  them  a  little  longer. 
Sunny  was  in  no  hurry.  She  was  not  going  to  make  any 
wild,  impetuous  rushes  that  she  might  afterwards  regret. 
She  was  going  to  work  her  way  steadily,  slowly,  but  very 
surely  up.  Heaps  of  time  to  think  of  smarter  rooms 
later,  when  she  had  saved. 

Mrs.  Melkin  cried  out  against  it,  but  Sunny  was  firm. 

"We've  managed  here  pretty  good,"  she  said.  "  We're 
going  on  managing.  I'm  kind  of  fond  of  the  place; 
and  anyhow  it's  cheap.  I  can  save  a  good  bit  while  I 
am  here,  aunt.  Anyhow,  I  haven't  got  the  money  yet 
to  buy  no  furniture  for  no  new  flat  or  nothing." 

"You  could  get  it  on  the  'ire,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said. 

"Me!"  Sunny  said.  "Start  by  running  into  debt 
and  living  with  things  as  don't  belong  to  me — not  much ! 
Law,  I  shouldn't  feel  like  it  was  a  'ome  of  my  own, 
thinking  the  men  was  coming  with  the  cart  to  clear  me 
out  every  moment  if  I  was  a  day  behind  with  the  pay- 
ments. Not  taking  any,  thank  you!" 

It  was  the  following  morning,  the  morning  after  her 
first  appearance. 

"Seems  funny,  don't  it,  not  to  'ave  to  git  up  and  rush 
for  my  blessed  life  to  the  pickles?"  Sunny  said.  "  'Ere 
I  am  a  lady,  with  leisure  time!  'Ello!"  She  paused. 
"What's  up?" 

Someone  was  pounding  up  the  stairs.  There  was  a 
crash,  a  yell,  the  fall  of  a  heavy  body. 

Mrs.  Melkin  screamed.     Sunny  started  to  her  feet. 

"It's  only  Bert,  'e's  slipped  and  fell  down,"  she  said. 
"He  generally  does.  These  stairs  are  that  dark!" 

It  was  Bert;  he  came  in  rubbing  himself. 

"I've  brought  the  paper,"  he  said. 

"What  paper?"  Sunny  asked. 


66  Sunny  Ducrow 

"The  newspaper,  this  morning.  Thought  you'd  like 
to  'ave  a  look  at  it." 

"What's  'appened?"  Sunny  said.  "Someone  been 
and  blowed  up  London  Bridge,  or  the  Buckingham 
Palis  cat  'ad  kittens,  or  what?" 

"It's  about  you!"  Bert  said. 

"Me!"  Sunny  stared  at  him.  "About  me!"  She 
turned  red.  "'Go's  been  saying  things  about  me, 
Bert?  It — it  ain't  been  reported  about  me  and  you  'ad 
up  at  the  police-court  all  them  weeks  ago?  They  ain't 
been  and  got  'old  of  it  now?" 

"Read  it  and  see  for  yourself;  and  then  read  a  bit 
further  on,  near  the  end.  There's  a  bit  about  me,"  he 
said. 

Sunny  took  the  paper  and  went  to  the  window. 

"There's  the  bit;  I  marked  it,"  he  said. 

"Read  it  out  loud,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said.  "I  can  bear 
almost  anything  now,  after  what  I  been  through  in  my 
life." 

She  sat  down  with  a  resigned  air,  a  look  on  her  face 
that  the  Christian  martyrs  might  have  worn  in  the  time 
of  Nero. 

"'We  welcome,'"  Sunny  read  out,  "  'the  advent  of 
a  very  charming  and  talented  young  actress,  Miss  Sunny 
Ducrow.  The  name  is  unfamiliar,  but  it  is  very  evident 
that  this  young  lady  has  been  taught  in  a  good  school 
and  must,  youthful  though  she  is,  have  had  a  wide  experi- 
ence. From  the  moment  she  came  on  the  stage  and 
made  her  delicious  little  speech  to  the  audience  her 
success  was  assured.  Of  her  talents  there  cannot  be 
the  slightest  doubt.  The  naive,  charming,  irresistible 
manner,  the  delightful  little  personality,  and,  above  all, 
the  suggestion  of  personal  confidence  that  she  managed 
to  impart  to  her  speech  proved  irresistible.  The  vast 
audience  welcomed  this  young  actress  in  a  fit  manner. 


Good  Reports  67 

Mr.  Hemmingway  is  to  be  congratulated  on  having 
secured  a  sure  draw  in  this  charming  little  lady,  who  has 
certainly  taken  the  town  by  storm.  Apart  from  a  de- 
lightful stage  presence,  far  more  than  her  share  of  good 
looks,  and  possibly  the  most  glorious  head  of  hair  that 
has  been  seen  on  the  stage  for  many  years,  Miss  Ducrow 
is  the  possessor  of  a  charming  and  very  tuneful  voice. 
She  rendered  the  song  Piccalilli  Lily  in  an  irresistible 
fashion.  The  song  itself  is  brightly  written,  the  words 
taking,  and  the  melody  full  of  tune  and  go.  It  is  safe 
to  predict  it  will  become  one  of  the  popular  airs  of  the 
immediate  future. 

"  'We  can  only  repeat  what  we  have  previously  said, 
that  we  welcome  Miss  Sunny  Ducrow  and  personally 
thank  her  for  a  very  delightful  ten  minutes  or  so.  Our 
congratulations  are  also  due  to  that  astute  and  far-seeing 
impresario,  Mr.  Hemmingway!' 

"Well,  I'm  blessed!"  Sunny  said. 

Bert  nodded. 

"That's  the  bit  about  you.  Now  go  on.  Look  further 
down,  where  there's  a  mark.  I  done  it  with  a  bit  of 
pointed  wood,  and  I  hadn't  got  a  pencil.  That's  about 
me!" 

"' Here, '"  Sunny  commenced  to  read  again,  "'there 
was  a  welcome  break  of  humor  to  relieve  the  somewhat 
decided  gloom  of  this  act.  A  comedian — whose  name 
we  looked  for  in  vain  on  the  programme — executed  a 
remarkably  clever  piece  of  business.  Ostensibly  one  of 
the  chorus,  he  seemed  to  have  got  left  behind,  and  was 
apparently  engrossed  in  the  acting  of  Mr.  Harvey  Daglan. 
Suddenly,  warned  by  a  voice  from  the  wings  that  he  is 
de  trop  on  the  stage,  he  seems  to  realize  his  position. 
The  expression  of  the  young  actor's  face  was  really 
excruciatingly  funny.  His  attempt  to  escape  from  the 
stage  brought  the  house  down.  The  laughter  continued 


68  Sunny  Ducrow 

for  some  time  and  delayed  the  execution  of  the  duet 
between  Miss  Leslie  Montressor  and  Mr.  Daglan  for 
some  minutes.  We  would  like  to  see  this  young  artiste's 
name  on  the  programme.  Surely  he  is  worthy  of  a 
place  there,  and  in  something  more  than  small  letter 
type?"' 

"That's  me,"  Bert  said.  "Thought  I  done  it  on  pur- 
pose." He  looked  gloomily  round  the  room.  "Thought 
I  got  left  there  on  purpose,"  he  said  again.  "Only  I 
didn't.  I  was  fair  scared  out  of  my  life!  I  didn't  know 
the  others  'ad  gone,  and  there  I  was."  He  paused  and 
wiped  his  forehead.  "Give  me  a  turn,  it  did!"  he  said, 
shuddering. 

"Well,  you've  got  over  it  all  right,  Bert,"  Sunny  said. 
"I  shouldn't  worry.  They  seemed  to  like  it,  anyhow. 
Now  then,  we've  got  to  get  a  move  on  us ! " 

She  and  Bert  went  out.     They  walked  to  the  theatre. 

Mr.  Hemmingway  was  on  the  stage  when  they  arrived. 

"I  want  you  two,"  he  said — "you,  Jackson,  and  you, 
Miss  Ducrow.  I'll  start  with  Miss  Ducrow  first.  That 
speech  of  yours — "  He  paused.  "It  was  all  wrong, 
of  course,  remember.  I  don't  go  back  on  that  in  the 
slightest.  It  was  unprofessional  and  out  of  order,  yet 
it  seemed  to  make  a  hit!" 

"They  seem  to  like  it  all  right,  any'ow,  in  the  papers," 
Surniy  said. 

"Oh,  so  you've  seen  the  papers,  have  you?  All  right. 
Now,  look  here,  I  want  that  speech  every  night — see?" 

"Me!"  she  gasped.  "Tell  'em  about  myself — every- 
thing?" 

"That's  the  idea.  I  give  you  five  minutes  to  say 
what  you  like.  I  leave  it  to  you  to  tell  them  about  the 
pickles  and  the  rest  of  it.  Sort  of  throw  yourself  on 
their  generosity.  That's  what  an  audience  likes,  it's 
the  right  note.  You've  got  that? " 


Good  Reports  69 

Sunny  nodded. 

"I'll  do  what  I  can,"  she  said.  "Only,  if  I've  got  to 
talk  to  'em  I  don't  want  nothing  written  down.  I've 
got  to  say  just  what  comes  into  my  head." 

"That's  it,"  he  said.  "Make  them  cry,  if  you  can — 
if  you  can't  make  them  laugh.  That  touch  about  their 
own  daughters  and  that  sort  of  thing  was  good.  Keep 
on  that  line  and  you're  all  right.  Remember,  you  have 
five  minutes.  The  first  time  you  don't  draw  a  laugh, 
I'll  cut  it  out— see?" 

"You  won't  never  cut  it  out,"  Sunny  said.  "You'll 
be  asking  me  to  give  them  ten  minutes  next!" 

He  laughed. 

"We'll  see.  Now  then,  Jackson,  about  that  bit  of 
business  you  introduced  last  night." 

"Me!"  Bert  said.     "I  didn't  introduce  nothing." 

He  looked  abjectly  wretched. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  whose  idea  it  was,  but  it  wasn't 
bad.  It  seemed  to  go.  I  want  you  to  rehearse  that. 
Miss  Montressor  and  Mr.  Daglan  are  willing.  They'll 
work  up  a  little  by-play  to  fill  in." 

" I — I  couldn't!  I  simply  never  couldn't  do  it  again," 
Bert  said.  The  tears  came  into  his  eyes.  "Don't  arst 
me!"  he  implored.  "Let  me  go!  I  wish — I  wish  I 
was  back  at  the  pickles,  I  do!"  he  said  with  a  sob. 
"This  here  is  breaking  my  heart!" 

Mr.  Hemmingway  nodded. 

"That's  the  sort  of  thing!  You  can't  look  too 
wretched,"  he  said.  "It's  a  good  card  to  play,  misery; 
it  always  tells.  Mr.  Jakes,  take  Mr.  Jackson  through 
that  bit  again,  will  you?  And,  by  the  way,  see  his  name 
is  on  the  programme.  We'll  call  his  part" — he  paused 
— "Lord  Pomeroy  Pootle,  that'll  do.  Any  old  name." 

He  nodded  to  the  wretched  Bert  and  went. 

Sunny's  little  speech  to  her  audience  that  night  went 


70  Sunny  Ducrow 

with  even  more  success  than  her  first  effort.  For  one 
thing,  she  had  gained  confidence.  She  no  longer  felt 
afraid  of  her  audience. 

Her  brain  was  wonderfully  clear  and  very  active. 
She  told  them  about  how  she  had  been  taken  on  at  the 
pickle  factory.  She  mimicked  Mr.  Johnson's  manner 
and  his  shuffling  speech. 

"  It's  like  this ! "  she  said.  "  I  want  to  get  on.  I  didn't 
often  get  any  supper,  as  you  could  notice.  I  went  to 
bed  'ungry,  and  when  I  was  a  little  un  I  used  mostly  to 
cry  myself  to  sleep.  But  all  the  time  I  meant  to  get  on, 
and  you're  going  to  'elp  me,  ain't  you?  I  know  you 
are.  Some  of  you  is  married,  and  got  daughters  my  age, 
very  likely.  You'd  like  other  folk  to  give  'em  a  'and, 
wouldn't  you?  just  like  you're  going  to  give  me  to-night? " 

It  went,  as  Mr.  Hemmingway  admitted  to  himself, 
with  a  bang.  The  audience  hung  on  every  word;  they 
applauded  her  to  the  echo.  Her  song  was  even  better 
to-night,  and  Miss  Idalia  Clifton  was  green  with  fury. 

"Don't  you  worry,"  she  said  to  Sunny.  "They'll 
soon  get  fed-up  with  you  and  your  blessed  pickle  factory. 
Oh,  goodness,  when  the  novelty  once  wears  off  they'll 
cry  with  being  tired  of  you !  What's  that  ? " 

"That"  was  a  bouquet  of  flowers.  It  was  addressed 
to  Miss  Sunny  Ducrow. 

The  girls  gathered  round  the  call-boy  who  brought  it. 

"Oh,  isn't  it  lovely!"  Miss  de  Venn  said.  "Sunny, 
you  are  lucky!  Why,  what's  the  matter?" 

Sunny  had  blushed  with  delight  at  the  sight  of  the 
flowers.  Now  suddenly  she  went  white.  She  had  taken 
them  and  examined  them;  she  had  buried  her  flushed 
face  in  them,  and  her  nose  had  come  into  contact  with 
something  that  was  not  a  flower.  It  was  a  small  morocco- 
covered  case.  She  had  opened  it.  Inside  lay  a  little 
pendant  glittering  with  diamonds. 


. 


Good  Reports  7* 

• 

"Oh,  good  gracious!"  Miss  Clifton  said.  "Some 
fool  with  more  money  than  wit!"  She  stared  at  the 
pendant  enviously.  "Who's  it  from?"  she  demanded. 

There  was  a  card  attached  to  the  flowers.  Sunny 
spelled  out  the  name. 

"Please  accept  this  small  offering  from  one  who  ad- 
mires you  greatly."  The  card  was  engraved.  "Stanley 
Alwyn,  Viscount  Dobrington." 

' '  You're  in  luck ! ' '  Miss  de  Venn  said.  ' '  Why,  it  must 
have  cost  ten  guineas  if  a  penny;  very  likely  more! 
It's  Dobby,  too;  he's  rolling  in  money!" 

She  was  a  good-natured  girl,  and  seemed  to  take  a 
genuine  interest  and  pleasure  in  Sunny's  success. 

Sunny  said  nothing.  She  laid  the  little  case  aside 
with  the  card,  and  the  flowers  she  put  in  water  on  her 
dressing-table. 

Never  in  his  life  had  Bert  felt  so  intensely  miserable 
and  so  hopelessly  wretched  as  to-night.  He  had  to  do 
all  over  again  what  he  had  done  unwillingly  and  spon- 
taneously last  night.  He  knew  he  could  not  do  it.  He 
felt  that  when  the  time  came  and  the  lights  were  turned 
up  he  would  faint. 

When  the  rest  of  the  chorus  had  gone  off  and  Bert 
was  left  behind  he  stood  there  shaking  in  his  shoes.  He 
would  not  do  it;  he  could  not.  It  was  impossible. 

He  wished  himself  back  at  the  pickle  factory  with  all 
his  heart  and  soul.  He  longed  for  the  smell  of  vinegar, 
which  had  always  made  him  sick.  The  smell  of  that 
vinegar  would  have  been  sweeter  than  the  scents  of 
paradise  to  him  just  now. 

The  lights  were  going  up.  Miss  Montressor  was 
coming  on  the  stage.  Bert  shut  his  eyes  and  swayed. 
He  stood  there  a  crumpled-up,  hopeless-looking  figure. 

"Come  off,  you  pie-faced,  mutton-headed  idiot!" 
someone  said  audibly. 


72  Sunny  Ducrow 

It  was  meant  to  be  audible  to-night  for  the  benefit 
of  the  audience. 

Bert  started. 

"I — I  can't — can't  do  it!"  he  gasped.  "Don't  arst 
me.  I'm  bad!  I've  got  a  feeling  inside  as  there's 
something  wrong.  Let  me  off!" 

He  groped  his  way  to  the  wings. 

"Come  off,  will  you?"  roared  the  voice. 

"I'm  coming!"  Bert  moaned.     "Oh — oh  dear!" 

He  knew  he  had  to  make  a  rush  across  the  stage  and 
fall  down.  His  legs  shook  under  him.  He  collapsed  in 
a  heap,  moaning. 

Just  as  last  night,  the  audience  was  roaring  at  him. 
He  turned  a  dazed,  surprised,  even  hurt  face  to  the  sea 
of  faces.  The  expression  on  his  face  was  inimitable. 
The  very  sight  of  him  sent  them  into  fresh  paroxysms  of 
laughter. 

Finally,  on  his  hands  and  knees,  feeling  a  perfect 
wreck,  Bert  crawled  off  to  the  accompaniment  of  a 
tornado  of  mirth. 

"Went  all  right!"  Mr.  Jakes  said  patronizingly. 
"That  last  bit  of  business,  crawling  off,  was  very  good. 
Do  it  again  to-morrow!" 

"Gi' — gi' — gi'me  some  brandy!"  Bert  whispered. 
"I'm  a-going  to  faint,  I  am!  It's  all  up!  I  wish  I  was 
back  at  the  pickles,  I  do!" 


CHAPTER  VIII  \ 

THE  OTHER  WAY 

««I  'AD  some  flowers  to-night,"  Sunny  said,  as  she  and 
1    Bert  walked  home  together  to  the  southeast  side 
of  the  river. 

"I  'ad  some  brandy,"  he  said,  "and  wanted  it  too!" 
She  laughed.  She  said  nothing  about  the  pendant. 
The  other  girls,  however,  had  said  a  good  deal.  Lord 
Dobrington  was  well  known.  He  was  young  and  hand- 
some, a  member  of  a  family  very  high  up  in  the  nobility. 
He  was,  moreover,  very  rich  even  for  a  peer,  and  very 
free-handed. 

These  were  qualities  that  would  naturally  endear  him 
to  any  chorus-girl;  but  he  was  something  more  than 
this.  He  was  a  genuine,  clean-minded,  decent  fellow, 
honorable  and  straight,  who,  having  plenty  of  this 
world's  goods*  liked  to  make  things  a  little  easier  for 
those  not  so  well  off  as  himself. 

"He's  an  awful  big  catch!"  Miss  de  Venn  had  told 
Sunny.  "  If  you  could  get  hold  of  him,  a  chap  like  that, 
and  be  a  viscountess  one  day!" 

"Not  me!"  Sunny  said.  "Not  taking  any,  thank 
you!  I'm  going  to  make  my  own  future,  I  am.  Any 
fool  of  a  girl  can  get  married,  but  it  isn't  every  girl 
who's  going  to  make  her  own  name  and  her  own 
living.  Besides,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  "when  I 
marry,  as  I  s'pose  I'll  have  to  some  day,  it'll  have  to 
be  Bert." 

73 


74  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Who's  Bert?"  Miss  de  Venn  asked. 

"Bert  Jackson!"  Sunny  said. 

She  had  the  idea  always  at  the  back  of  her  mind  that 
she  was  bound  in  honor,  in  some  inscrutable  way,  to 
marry  Bert.  Of  course  it  would  not  be  yet;  not  for 
years  and  years — ten  years,  perhaps  twenty.  She 
regarded  thirty-seven  or  thirty-eight  as  a  very  suitable 
age  for  a  woman  to  marry.  Bert  would  then  be  nearly 
forty.  He  would  have  settled  down. 

Yes,  she  supposed  she  would  marry  Bert !  Goodness, 
if  she  did  not  marry  him,  who  would?  And  who  would 
look  after  him  and  see  he  did  not  make  an  idiot  of  himself 
if  she  was  married  to  someone  else  ? 

She  was  thinking  about  this  now  as  she  and  Bert 
walked  slowly  homewards  over  Waterloo  Bridge. 

"Bert,  'ow  old  are  you?"  she  asked. 

"Nineteen  next  Feb  ry,"  he  said. 

"And  me,  I'm  seventeen  in  November,"  she  said. 
"That  makes  you  about" — she  paused  and  counted  up — 
"a  year  and  ten  months  older'n  me,  don't  it?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  he  said  gloomily. 

"Well,  forty's  a  good  age  for  getting  married,  ain't 
it?"  she  said. 

"I  dunno.     I  never  give  it  a  thought." 

"  Any'ow,  I'll  marry  you  when  you're  forty  if  you  like, 
Bert,"  she  said. 

' '  Will  y ou  ? "  he  said  unenthusiastically .  "  All  right !" 
he  sniffed. 

"Of  course,  if  I  didn't  no  one  else  never  would!" 

"I'd  never  ask  no  one;  wouldn't  'ave  the  face!  I 
wouldn't  'ave  asked  you,  Sunny.  It's  your  idea,  don't 
blame  me!" 

' '  That's  all  right ! "  she  said.  She  felt  relief ;  it  settled 
the  question  of  matrimony.  In  about  twenty-three 
years  she  would  be  Bert's  bride.  Meanwhile,  there 


The  Other  Way  75 

i 

was  a  great  deal  to  do.  "I'm  glad  that's  settled  all 
right!"  she  said. 

He  nodded. 

"  We  ought  to  have  a  bit  put  by  then,"  he  said.  "And 
very  likely" — he  seemed  to  brighten  up — "your  aunt 
and  my  father '11  be  dead  and  gone  by  then!" 

Sunny  nodded. 

"We  should  only  have  each  other,  Bert." 

Sunny  found  her  aunt  in  tears,  her  voice  raised  in 
lamentation,  to-night. 

' '  Why,  what's  the  matter  now,  old  dear  ? ' '  Sunny  asked. 

"I'm  a  heart-broken  woman!"  Mrs.  Melkin  said. 
"I'm  a  put-upon  woman!  I  went  there  to-night  to — to 
the  theatre!"  She  sobbed  bitterly.  "I  told  them  who 
I  was — I  said  I  was  your  aunt,  and  asked  them  to  let 
me  pass  through,  and  they  wouldn't !  They  told  me  to 
get  out!"  She  wailed  and  sobbed.  "Get  out — me 
who  brought  you  up !  I  went  out  and  I  walked  up  and 
down,  to  and  fro,  to  and  fro,  then  I  went  back,  and  a 
big  man  said  if  I  didn't  clear  off  he'd  call  the  police. 
Then  I  came  home.  And  after  all  I  done— after  all  I 
done,  me  bringing  you  up!" 

Mrs.  Melkin  rocked  backwards  and  forwards. 

Sunny  comforted  her. 

"I'll  get  passes  for  you  if  I  can,"  she  said. 

"It  ain't  that — it  ain't  merely  being  there.  It's 
knowing  as  I  can  go  in  and  out  jest  as  I  like — it's  that 
as  makes  the  difference!"  Mrs.  Melkin  said. 

"I'll  get  the  passes  any'ow,"  Sunny  said.  "Mr. 
Hemmingway'll  give  'em  to  me." 

Sunny's  little  speech  had  come  to  be  a  feature  of  the 
revue.  It  was  looked  for,  people  talked  about  it.  People 
who  had  been  to  both  performances  realized  that  Sunny's 
speech  was  spontaneous ;  it  was  not  merely  written  words 
that  she  had  learned  by  heart.  The  news  went  about. 


76  Sunny  Ducrow 

She  was  something  more  than  an  actress,  she  was  an 
originator. 

"Five  minutes!"  Mr.  Hemmingway  muttered  to  her, 
as  she  stepped  on  to  the  stage. 

Sunny  nodded  to  the  audience. 

"Good  evening!"  she  said  pleasantly.  "I  ain't  got 
no  more  than  five  minutes,  that's  what  Mr.  Hemming- 
way says,  so  I've  got  to  get  on  with  it  quick.  I  told  you 
last  night  about  how  I  got  to  the  pickle  factory,  and  got 
took  on  and  like  that.  Well,  to-night  I've  got  something 
else  to  tell  you.  It's  this:  Some  chap  sent  me  a  lovely 
nosegay  last  night.  It's  the  first  time  I  ever  got  flowers 
sent  to  me  in  my  life,  but  it  won't  be  the  last!"  She 
paused  for  the  laugh,  and  it  came.  "Well,"  Sunny  said, 
"I  nearly  cried  over  them  flowers.  I  loved  'em.  I  felt 
like  my  heart  was  going  to  burst ! "  She  paused.  "  Me, 
I  lived  in  a  back  street  all  my  life;  I  ain't  often  been  into 
the  country.  The  only  flowers  I  ever  see  almost  are 
them  in  the  flower-shop  windows.  I  never  didn't  'ave 
any  real  flowers  of  my  own.  When  I'd  been  to  'Ampton 
Court  in  a  bus  I  picked  some  daisies  in  a  field  and  I 
kep'  'em  three  weeks.  They  was  pretty  bad  when  I 
was  through  with  them.  You  don't  know,  none  of  you 
that  ain't  lived  in  a  slum,  what  a  few  flowers  mean  to 
a  gel  as  never  sees  the  green  fields  and  the  trees  and  the 
country —  She  paused,  there  was  a  sob  in  her  voice. 

"But,"  she  went  on>  "them  flowers  was  spoiled  for 
me."  She  paused.  "There  was  a  little  box  sent  with 
them.  I  opened  it,  and  there  was  something  inside,  all 
shining! — di'monds  they  were.  It  just  spoiled  them 
flowers.  You — you  understand?" 

She  might  have  been  talking  to  an  intimate  friend — 
one  who  understood  her,  who  knew  her  every  thought, 
her  every  feeling.  She  spoke  to  them  all  collectively, 
yet  her  voice  was  for  them  individually. 


The  Other  Way  77 

"I  ain't  going  to  say  'oo  sent  'em,"  she  said.  "That 
wouldn't  be  fair.  He  meant  it  kind,  but  it — it  spoiled 
the  flowers."  She  paused.  "It's  at  the  ticket  office, 
that  little  box.  I  'anded  it  in.  If  he'll  give  'is  card, 
they'll  take  and  'and  'im  the  box  with  the  di'mon's  in. 
Flowers" — she  paused — "God's  flowers,"  she  said  very 
softly,  "mean  more  to  a  gel  like  me  than  all  the  di'mon's 
in  the  world!" 

There  was  a  silence,  a  long  silence.  Could  it  be  that 
Sunny's  speech  had  fallen  flat  to-night? 

Someone  applauded,  half-heartedly  it  almost  seemed, 
and  the  others  took  it  up.  The  house  roared  at  her,  it 
rose  at  her. 

She  stood  dazed,  almost  frightened.  Yet  she  knew, 
as  everyone  else  there  did,  that  what  she  had  said  to- 
night had  gone  right  to  the  heart  of  every  man  and 
woman  there. 


CHAPTER   IX 

A    SITTING 

SUNNY  had  moved,  she  had  done  it  against  her  will; 
she  had  felt  very  sad  about  it.  There  was  little 
enough  to  regret  about  the  miserable  attic  rooms,  but  it 
was  Sunny's  nature  to  be  loyal.  She  was  loyal  to  every- 
thing, she  was  even  loyal  to  the  noisy  little  slum  and  the 
two  rooms  under  the  roof,  but  she  had  to  go.  For  one 
thing,  it  meant  too  long  a  walk  for  her  at  night  after  the 
performance  was  over;  for  another,  there  was  really  no 
need  now  why  she  could  not  have  better  rooms  in  another 
and  nicer  neighborhood. 

"But  I  don't  like  going,  all  the  same, "  she  told  Bert. 

"  I  should  have  thought  you'd  be  glad, "  he  said. 

Sunny  shook  her  head. 

"I  hate  changes!"  she  said.  "Yet  I  guess  I'm  going 
to  see  heaps  of  changes,  one  way  and  another,  before 
I'm  done." 

Mrs.  Melkin  wanted  badly  to  take  an  unfurnished  flat 
and  furnish  it  on  the  hire-purchase  system. 

"  It'll  be  so  much  nicer  to  have  things  as  you  know  are 
your  own, "  she  said. 

"Know  are  your  own  and  ain't  paid  for!  'Ow  are 
they  going  to  be  our  own  when  we  owes  for  'em?  Why, 
I  shouldn't  sleep  o'  nights  counting  up  'ow  much  I'd  still 
got  left  to  pay!  It  would  fair  worry  me  to  death!" 
Sunny  said. 

The  hire-purchase  system  was  not  for  her.  They  took 

78 


A  Sitting  79 

small  furnished  rooms,  mean  rooms  they  were,  but  the 
neighborhood  was  an  improvement  on  the  old  one. 

The  revue  Keep  off  the  Grass  was  scoring  a  big  success, 
and  one  of  the  features  of  its  success  was  Sunny  Ducrow, 
though  she  did  not  realize  it. 

"I've  only  begun  as  yet,"  she  said  to  Bert,  to  whom 
she  opened  her  heart.  "Playing  gels  out  of  pickle 
factories  ain't  going  to  be  my  line.  It's  all  right  to  start 
with,  but  I'm  going  a  sight  better  than  that  presently, 
you  see.  As  for  you,  Bert,  you  ain't  doing  so  dusty, 
either.  You  fetch  the  house  down,  you  do,  with  that 
there  ack  of  yours.  'Ow  about  'aving  a  song? " 

"Me  a  song?"  Bert  said.  "Me  singing?  Lor',  I'd 
faint  dead  away !  I  couldn't  do  it !  It's  bad  enough  to 
'ave  to  do  what  I  do,  but  singing  ain't  in  my  line." 

"Well,  you  ain't  got  a  voice  to  write  'ome  about," 
Sunny  said.  "I  mean,  you  ain't  a  blooming  Cruser. 
What  you  want  is  a  sad  sort  of  song." 

"  Don't  you  get  talking  about  it,  Sunny.  It'll  only  go 
putting  ideas  into  some  of  their  'eads, "  Bert  said.  "I'm 
very  well  as  I  am." 

"  You  ain't ! "  Sunny  said.  "You're  like  me,  only  just 
beginning.  And  we've  got  a  long  way  to  go  yet,  Bert." 

It  was  the  following  morning  that  someone  tapped 
on  the  door  of  their  lodgings  in  the  Bloomsbury  neigh- 
borhood. Mrs.  Melkin  opened  the  door.  She  found  a 
shabby-looking,  little  thin  man  with  white  hair. 

"Not  to-day,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said.  She  would  have 
closed  the  door. 

"  I  think  there  is  some  mistake.  I  called  at  the  desire 
of  Miss  Ducrow, "  he  said. 

"Oh,  you  did!     And  what  do  you  want?" 

"Who  is  it?"  Sunny  asked.  "Oh,  come  in!"  She 
nodded  brightly  to  the  old  fellow.  "Come  in!  Aunt, 
this  is  Mr.  Gibbins." 


8o  Sunny  Ducrow 

"  Pleased  to  meet  you, "  Mrs.  Melkin  said.  She  looked 
at  him  inquiringly. 

Mr.  Gibbins  came  into  the  room.  He  was  evidently 
very  poor.  His  clothes  suggested  it;  the  half -starved 
look  about  him  suggested  it.  Sunny  saw  it. 

"First,"  she  said,  "we'll  'ave  breakfast." 

"But  you've  'ad  breakfast  once!"  Mrs.  Melkin  said. 

"'Oo  'as?  You've  been  dreaming!"  Sunny  said. 
"Ring  and  'ave  breakfast  up." 

Mrs.  Melkin  was  learning  obedience.  In  the  old  days, 
when  Sunny  had  earned  seven  shillings  a  week,  it  was  she 
who  was  mistress  of  the  establishment.  Now  Sunny  was 
earning  seven  or  eight  times  that  amount,  with  the  prom- 
ise of  more  in  the  immediate  future.  She  rang  the  bell. 
The  surprised  landlady  brought  up  the  breakfast  things, 
which  she  had  only  just  taken  down.  More  bacon  was 
cooked,  and  Mr.  Gibbins  had  his  breakfast,  firmly  believ- 
ing that  Sunny  was  having  hers. 

The  things  were  cleared  away  at  last. 

"Now  we'll  start,"  Sunny  said. 

"Start  what?"  her  aunt  asked. 

"Mr.  Gibbins  'as  come  round  to  improve  me;  he's 
coming  every  morning, "  Sunny  said.  "It's  like  this.  I 
ain't  going  to  play  pickle-factory  gels  all  my  life.  I'm 
going  to  play  Hamlick  one  of  these  days,  and  Romero 
and  Julia,  or  whatever  her  name  is." 

"Juliet,  possibly;  I  hope  so — I  do  indeed  hope  so," 
said  Mr.  Gibbins. 

"  It's  all  the  same.  I'm  going  to  play  big  parts.  You 
wait  and  see.  For  one  thing  I've  got  to  talk  proper. 
That's  what  Mr.  Gibbins  is  'ere  for.  He's  going  to  learn 
me.  Two  hours  every  morning,  'scept  when  there's 
rehearsals.  Then  we'll  'ave  to  find  some  other  time." 

That  morning  Sunny's  lessons  started.  When  Sunny 
put  her  whole  mind  to  a  thing  she  succeeded.  She  put 


A  Sitting  81 

her  whole  mind  now  to  bettering  her  education.  She 
wrote  a  hand  like  a  child  of  five.  Under  Mr.  Gibbins's 
guidance  her  writing  began  to  show  rapid  improvement. 
But  speech  was  the  main  thing.  He  was  a  broken-down 
literary  man,  who  in  his  youth  had  been  an  actor.  Poor, 
old,  friendless,  he  was  glad  to  earn  a  shilling  an  hour 
teaching  Sunny  Ducrow,  and  the  breakfast  every  morn- 
ing became  the  usual  thing.  Mrs.  Melkin  looked  on  it  all 
with  suspicion.  She  did  not  quite  know  what  she  sus- 
pected, but  she  suspected,  because  it  was  her  nature. 

But  Sunny  was  improving;  every  day,  almost  every 
hour,  saw  an  improvement  in  her.  Her  speech  grew  less 
rough  and  careless,  more  polished,  her  "  h's  "  were  seldom 
dropped.  Now  and  again  she  drifted  into  some  of  the 
old  familiar  slang ;  but  she  pulled  herself  together,  quickly. 
She  was  learning  Shakespeare  under  Mr.  Gibbins's  in- 
struction, and  the  old  man's  patience  and  pride  in  his  pupil 
was  something  wonderful  to  see. 

"How — how  about  having  that  there  Porcher's  speech 
this  morning?"  Sunny  said. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"'That  there'  is  not  good  grammar,  Miss  Ducrow. 
You  should  have  said " 

"Wait  a  moment,"  she  said.  "I  ought  to  have  said, 
'Shall  we  have  Porcher's  speech  this  morning?'"  she 
said. 

4 '  That  is  better.     But  you  should  have  said  Portia. ' ' 

"Portia, "  Sunny  said.     "I've  got  it  now,  haven't  I?" 

He  nodded  and  smiled. 

Mrs.  Melkin  could  not  understand  it  at  all.  Nor 
could  she  understand  it  better  when  Sunny  stood  up  and 
declaimed : 

"The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strain 'd; 
It  droppeth,  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven 
Upon  the  place  beneath:  it  is  twice  bless'd " 


82  Sunny  Ducrow 

"It  beats  me,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said.  "What  that  gel's 
after  I  don't  know.  Sometimes  I  feel  fair  frightened  the 
way  she's  going  on." 

Meanwhile  the  revue  was  running  its  course.  It  had 
scored  a  big  success,  and  people  were  beginning  to  know 
the  name  of  Sunny  Ducrow.  But  only  beginning.  She 
had  a  long  way  to  go  yet,  and  she  knew  it. 

"What  we've  got  to  do,  Bert,  is  to  advertise,"  she 
said.  "No  one  doesn't — I  mean,  no  one  gets  on  in  this 
world  without  advertisement." 

Bert  nodded. 

"You  mean,  'ave  a  private  advertisement  in  the  Even- 
ing News  ?"  he  said.  " Only  I  ain't  got  nothing  to  sell." 

Sunny  shook  her  head. 

"No,  I  don't  mean  that.  You  come  with  me  this 
morning." 

Bert  went,  as  he  always  did  when  Sunny  ordered  him. 
They  went  west.  Outside  a  large  photographer's  estab- 
lishment Sunny  came  to  a  standstill. 

"I  think  this  is  the  place,  "  she  said.  She  marched  in 
and  Bert  followed. 

"Guv'nor  in?"  Sunny  said. 

The  young  lady  sitting  behind  a  table  rose. 

"Have  you  an  appointment?"  she  demanded. 

" Me!     No.     Only  just  tell  him  I'm  here, "  she  said. 

"Mr.  Hurlingham  sees  no  one  without  an  appoint- 
ment, "  the  young  lady  said  stiffly.  She  looked  Sunny  up 
and  down. 

"Well,  I  don't  see  how  he's  going  to  make  an  appoint- 
ment with  me  unless  he  sees  me  first, "  Sunny  said.  "I 
s'pose  the  old  boy's  busy?" 

"Mr.  Hurlingham  is  now  attending  to  a  client — a  lady 
of  title." 

"I'm  in  no  hurry, "  Sunny  said.  "I'll  wait."  She  sat 
down. 


A  Sitting  83 

"  I  assure  you  it  will  be  quite  useless.  Mr.  Hurlingham 
will  not  see  you;  it  is  his  rule  to  see  no  one." 

"Don't  you  worry,"  Sunny  said.  "Bert,  you  sit 
down."  - 

Bert  sat  on  the  very  edge  of  the  chair,  looking,  as 
usual,  uncomfortable  and  ill  at  ease. 

The  minutes  passed.  Then  the  heavy  curtains  were 
drawn  aside,  and  a  majestic-looking  lady  with  silvery  hair 
rustled  through  into  the  outer  shop.  She  was  followed 
by  a  young  man,  a  very  well-dressed  young  man — who 
stared  at  the  sight  of  Sunny,  reddened  a  little,  and 
hesitated,  as  though  about  to  raise  his  hat;  but  he  did 
not — he  followed  the  aristocratic  old  lady  out  of  the 
shop. 

"See  him?"  Sunny  whispered  to  Bert.  "You  know 
him?" 

Bert  shook  his  head. 

"That's  the  vis-count — Vis-count  Dobrington;  him  as 
sent  me  the  flowers  and  the  di'mon's,  which  I  sent  back, " 
Sunny  said. 

"  I  s'pose  the  old  gentleman's  alone  now?"  she  said  to 
the  girl. 

"I  have  told  you  once  that  Mr.  Hurlingham  will  not 
see  you  if  you  have  no  appointment." 

"  Don't  talk  silly,"  Sunny  said.  "What's  he  in  business 
for?  His  health,  or  what?  Isn't  he  here  to  take  photy- 
grafts — photographs,  I  mean.  Well,  then — "  She  rose, 
"Come  on,  Bert!"  she  said. 

The  young  lady  thought  she  was  going,  but  she  had 
never  made  a  greater  mistake  in  her  life.  Sunny  turned 
to  the  right  instead  of  to  the  left;  she  pushed  the  thick 
curtains  aside. 

"You  must  really  come  back.  I  cannot  allow  Mr. 
Hurl " 

But  it  was  too  late.     Sunny  had  seen  a  room  with  the 


84  N  Sunny  Ducrow 

word  studio  painted  on  the  door;  she  turned  the  handle 
and  went  in. 

De  Vere  Hurlingham  is,  as  everyone  knows,  the  most 
exclusive  and  particular  photographer  in  London.  He 
takes  only  the  best  people,  moving  in  the  highest  circles 
of  Society.  Now  and  again  he  condescends  to  photo- 
graph an  actress,  provided  she  is  in  the  very  highest  walk 
of  her  profession;  but  a  mere  chorus  girl  never  passes  the 
portals  of  his  exclusive  studio. 

He  was  a  youngish-looking  man.  He  wore  a  velvet 
coat  and  a  long,  crimson  silk  tie,  which  hung  half-way 
down  to  his  waist.  He  wore  his  hair  long,  and  he  af- 
fected a  single  eyeglass;  through  his  eyeglass  he  stared 
at  Sunny. 

"I've  come  to  have  my  picture  took, "  she  said— "me 
and  Bert — to  have  our  picture  post  cards  done." 

"I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  "that  there  is  some  mistake. 
I " 

"I'm  Sunny  Ducrow.  I'm  in  the  revue,  you  know, 
Keep  off  the  Grass.  Maybe  you've  seen  what  the  papers 
say  about  me." 

' '  I  assure  you ' ' 

"Well,  that  don't  matter;  it's  no  good  talking,"  she 
said.  "  'Ow  much — 'ow  much,  I  mean,  for  a  dozen  post 
cards  to  start  with?" 

A  dozen  post  cards!  He  reeled  as  though  she  had 
struck  him — he,  the  eminent  artist ! 

"  There's  a  man  at  the  corner  of  our  street  who  charges 
five  shillings  the  first  dozen  and  two  shillings  a  dozen  after 
from  the  same  picture, "  Sunny  said.  "  I  wouldn't  mind 
going  a  bit  more . "  She  smiled  at  him .  There  was  some- 
thing so  irresistible  in  her  smile  that  Mr.  Hurlingham, 
who  really  was  an  artist,  smiled  back. 

The  girl  stood  in  a  favorable  light.  Her  face  was 
aglow  with  vitality  and  animation.  It  was  a  very 


A  Sitting  85 

different  face  from  the  pale,  proud,  passively  unemotional 
face  he  had  been  wrestling  with  just  now.  It  would  be 
almost  a  relief  to  take  a  picture  of  a  girl  like  this.  He 
found  himself  studying  Sunny  while  she  talked.  His  first 
thought  had  been  to  ring  the  bell  and  order  someone  to 
remove  her. 

"Say  seven-and-six  and  three  bob,  and  I'm  ready 
now!"  Sunny  said.  "You  see,  I'm  only  a  beginner,  and 
with  girls  like  me  there's  nothing  that  gets  us  on  like 
having  their  pictures  took — post  cards  and  advertise- 
ments and  like  that.  You  know,"  she  said,  "me  drink- 
ing a  cup  of  corfee  or  cocoa  and  grinning  fit  to  break  my 
neck  and  showing  all  my  teeth — that's  one  way." 

"I  do  not  take  photographs  of  that  kind,"  he  said 
stiffly. 

"Now,  then,  how  about  me  leaning  against  a  rustic 
arch  or  somethink  like  that,  just  holding  up  the  edge  of 
my  skirt  like  that;  somebody's  stockings  as  won't  wear 
into  no  'ole — holes,"  she  corrected  herself.  She  smiled 
at  him  again. 

"No,"  he  said;  "certainly  not!  I  am  an  artist,  Miss 
—ahem!" 

"Ducrow — Sunny  Ducrow, "  she  said. 

"  Miss  Ducrow,  I  don't  take  pictures,  as  you  call  them, 
of  that  kind.  My  art — "  He  paused.  But  what  was 
the  use  of  talking  about  his  art  ?  She  would  not  under- 
stand. Still,  she  had  a  wonderful  face.  It  was  not  that 
she  was  perfectly  beautiful,  nor  beautifully  perfect;  it  was 
the  expression.  If  he  could  catch  that  swift,  rippling 
laugh — if  it  was  only  possible ! 

"I  tell  you  I  don't  take  photographs  for  advertise- 
ments or  picture  post  cards,  but  I  might — "  He 
hesitated.  "Stand  just  where  you  are;  don't  move, 
please.  Go  on  talking;  I  can  hear  you."  He  made 
a  rush;  he  was  gone;  a  heavy  curtain  fell,  hiding  him. 


86  Sunny  Ducrow 

"I  don't  see  how  I  can  go  on  talking  when  I  can't 
see  you, "  Sunny  said. 

"I  am  here;  I  can  hear  you  perfectly.  Tell  me  about 
your  work;  your  head  a  little  more  to  the  left." 

Muttered  exclamations  came  from  behind  the  curtain 
now  and  again.  Sunny  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed. 
It  seemed  so  funny  to  talk  to  a  man  who  was  dodging 
about  behind  a  curtain.  She  laughed  again;  her  laughter 
filled  the  room.  Bert  stood  there,  looking  on  gloomily. 
It  all  seemed  waste  of  time  to  him. 

"Funny  me  chatting  away  like  this  and  you  not  being 
on  the  stage, "  Sunny  said. 

"Go  on  talking, "  he  said.  "Laugh  again  like  you  did 
just  now.  Throw  your  head  back;  you  understand?" 

Sunny  did  as  she  was  told;  it  was  a  genuine  peal  of 
laughter  that  rang  out.  She  laughed  unrestrainedly. 

"I  don't  see  nothing  to  split  my  sides  about,"  Bert 
muttered  gloomily.  "What's  the  joke?" 

"I  don't  know  as  there's  any  joke,"  Sunny  said. 
"Only  it  seems  funny  me  standing  here  laughing  at 
nothing;  that's  what  made  me  laugh.  Once  I  start 
laughing  I  can't  stop."  She  laughed  again. 

It  was  some  minutes  later  that  Mr.  Hurlingham  came 
out  from  behind  the  curtain. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said. 

He  smiled,  he  rang  a  bell;  he  said  something  to  the 
young  lady  who  answered  it.  She  went  out;  a  few 
moments  later  she  came  back  with  a  cheque  and  a 
fountain  pen.  Mr.  Hurlingham  signed  the  cheque  and 
handed  it  to  Sunny. 

"But,"  she  said,  "I  don't  see — "  She  paused.  She 
stared  at  the  cheque  for  two  guineas.  "What's  it  for? 
It  was  me  as  was  going  to  pay  you.  I  mean  it  was  I 
who  were — was — which  is  it? — going  to  pay  you  for 
taking  my  photograph  and  you  ain't  took  it  yet." 


A  Sitting  87 

He  smiled  at  her. 

"My  dear  Miss  Ducrow,  I  have  taken  about  a  dozen 
negatives  of  you.  As  I  wish  to  retain  the  copyright,  per- 
mit me  to  pay  you  for  the  sitting.  I  will  send  you  proofs 
of  those  I  decide  to  use.  In  a  few  weeks'  time  you  may 
possibly  see  what  use  I  make  of  them.  Meanwhile,  if 
you  would  call  this  day  month  at  the  same  hour.  Miss 
Smith,  please  make  a  note — Miss  Ducrow,  on  the  seven- 
teenth of  next  month  at  eleven  A.M." 

"Well  I'm  blessed!"  said  Sunny.  "Anyhow,  I'll  be 
here  all  right."  She  held  out  her  hand  and  Mr.  Hurling- 
ham  took  it. 

"I  have  only  one  thing  to  ask,"  he  said.  "Will  you 
promise  me  that  until  you  come  here  again  you  will  not 
sit  to  any  photographer  other  than  myself?  I  feel  in- 
clined to  make  a  contract  with  you;  much  depends  on 
the  result  of  this  morning's  work." 

"All  right,"  Sunny  said.  "Bert,  put  this  in  your 
pocket  for  me." 

"Well,  if  you  ain't  got  a  sauce!"  Bert  muttered  as 
they  went  out.  "  Don't  you  know  that  half  the  actresses 
in  London  are  wild  for  him  to  take  their  photographs  and 
they  say  he  won't  look  at  them?" 

Sunny  nodded. 

"  That's  why  I  come  to  'im, "  she  said.  "  Only  I  didn't 
know  he  was  taking  my  pictures  all  the  time."  She 
laughed  happily.  "There's  always  ways  of  doing  things, 
Bert.  If  the  front  door's  locked  and  bolted,  you  can 
generally  get  in  by  the  back  door.  And  if  that's  locked 
too — well,  there's  a  winder  to  climb  through.  That's 
the  way  I  look  at  it." 

It  was  three  weeks  later  that  Sunny  saw  the  result  of 
her  morning's  visit.  On  the  front  page  of  one  of  the 
leading  illustrated  weekly  papers  was  a  whole-page 
photograph  of  a  girl  laughing.  It  was  such  a  genuine, 


88  Sunny  Due  row 

irresistible  laugh  that  people  who  looked  at  it  smiled 
unconsciously .  It  was  a  real  laugh — not  a  mere  laugh  with 
the  mouth  for  the  purpose  of  showing  a  good  set  of  teeth. 
She  laughed  with  her  mouth,  her  eyes,  her  little  tiptilted 
nose.  Exhibited  in  the  news  agents'  windows,  or  on  the 
bookstalls,  people  stopped  to  look  at  it  and  then  laughed. 
Everyone  laughed.  Like  yawning,  a  genuine  laugh  is 
infectious.  The  picture  was  called  The  Laughing 
Girl;  underneath  was  printed,  "A  Study  of  Miss  Sunny 
Ducrow,  by  de  Vere  Hurlingham." 

Some  people  said,  and  with  reason,  that  it  was  the 
very  finest  piece  of  work  that  Mr.  Hurlingham  had  ever 
done.  At  any  rate,  it  was  Sunny's  first  real  big  advertise- 
ment. People  asked  one  another,  "Have  you  seen  that 
picture  of  '  The  Laughing  Girl '  in  the  Weekly — 

Through  the  medium  of  that  picture,  Sunny  Ducrow 
became  known  to  more  people  by  name  and  by  appear- 
ance than  three  years'  hard  work  in  the  theatre  would 
have  effected. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   RIGHT   WAY 

SUNNY  and  Bert  were  leaving  the  exclusive  photo- 
grapher's. Outside  on  the  pavement  a  young  man 
stood  waiting.  Now  and  again  he  glanced  at  the  door 
of  the  establishment.  Now  he  reddened  and  hesitated. 
They  were  coming  out.  The  sun  shone  on  the  girl's 
hair,  turning  it  into  living  fire  about  her  pretty,  piquant, 
impudent  little  face. 

He  took  a  step  forward  and  lifted  his  hat. 

"Miss  Ducrow?"  he  said. 

Sunny  nodded. 

"That's    me!"    she    said.     "And   you    are  the  Vis- 
count  " 

"My   name  is   Dobrington, "   he  said — "Lord  Dob 
rington.      Miss    Ducrow,    I've    wanted    to    apologize 
to  you  for  a  long  time  past.     I  feel — "     He   paused 
abruptly. 

"The  flowers  were  lovely,"   she  said.     "Kept    'em 
eight  days  before  I  had  to  throw  'em  away." 

"I'm  glad.     But  the  other " 

"We  needn't  talk  about  that,"  Sunny  said.     "You 
got  it  back  all  right?" 

He  nodded. 

"I  am  sorry,  and — and  a  little  ashamed.     I  thought 
you  would  like  it  and " 

"I  did  like  it,"  Sunny  said.     "It  was  lovely;  but  of 
course" — she  looked  up  at  him  with  her  frank  eyes — 

89 


90  Sunny  Ducrow 

"I  didn't  know  you  and  you  didn't  know  me,  and  I 
couldn't  take  it,  could  I?" 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  suppose  not." 

"Well,  there's  nothing  else  to  say  about  it,  is  there?" 
she  said. 

"  I'd  like  to  say  a  good  deal  more  about  it, "  he  said. 

He  looked  down  at  her.  He  had  thought  her  pretty 
on  the  stage.  Here,  in  the  open  air,  in  the  strong  sun- 
light, she  seemed  a  thousand  times  prettier  to  him,  and 
it  was  not  mere  prettiness  alone.  Her  little  face  was 
sparkling  with  animation.  She  seemed  actually  to  dance 
along  the  pavement  by  his  side.  She  was  a  fairy,  a 
sprite,  and  yet  she  was  very,  very  womanly. 

There  was  something  in  the  eyes  of  her  that  spoke  of 
unfathomable  tenderness,  of  a  great  power  for  sympathy ; 
a  girl  with  such  eyes  might  encourage  and  hearten  a  man 
to  do  anything,  to  face  any  odds;  might  pick  a  man  out 
of  the  gutter  and  set  him  on  his  feet,  give  him  a  new  lease 
of  life,  give  him  back  self-respect  and  the  courage  he 
might  have  lost.  He  saw  all  that  in  Sunny's  smiling, 
happy  eyes. 

"You've  forgiven  me?"  he  said. 

"I  had  nothing  to  forgive,"  she  said. 

"Then  you  will  shake  hands?"  He  paused  and  held 
out  his  hand.  Solemnly  Sunny  put  her  hand  into  his. 
Passers-by  stopped  to  look  at  these  two  shaking  hands 
gravely  in  the  middle  of  the  busy  pavement. 

Bert  hunched  his  shoulders.  He  supposed  they  knew 
what  they  were  talking  about;  he  did  not. 

Bert,  I  haven't  introduced  you, ' '  Sunny  said.     ' '  This 
is,  Bert,  this  is — "     She  paused. 

"Dobrington, "  he  said.  He  held  out  his  hand  to 
Bert. 

"Hope  you  are  well?"  Bert  said. 

"Quite,  thanks.     I've  enjoyed  your  performances,  Mr. 


The  Right  Way  91 

Jackson.  I've  laughed  till  I've  cried;  you've  done  me 
good!" 

"Huh!"  Bert  said.  "I'd  like  to  do  myself  good. 
Laugh — "  He  paused,  he  stared  about  him.  "I've 
died  a  'undred  deaths,"  he  said  tragically.  "You  don't 
know.  No  one  knows.  Give  me  the  pickles  every  time." 
He  hunched  his  shoulders. 

"It's  a  quarter  to  one — lunch-time,  Miss  Ducrow, 
very  nearly." 

"I  was  thinking  the  same,"  Sunny  said. 

Dobrington's  eager  face  brightened. 

"Where  shall  it  be?"  he  asked.  "Romano's,  Princes', 
James's,  or " 

"  Me !     I  always  go  to  the  Areyated, "  Sunny  said. 

"I  don't  think  I  know " 

"The  bread  and  tea  shop — that's  where  I  go." 

"Oh,  but  to-day,  won't  you — I  mean " 

"The  Areyated's  good  enough  for  me,"  Sunny  said. 
"I'm  for  the  Areyated!"  She  smiled  at  him. 

"I  am  too,"  he  said.  He  had  never  lunched  at  an 
Aerated  Bread  Shop  before,  but  he  was  not  too  old  to 
begin.  They  found  one  of  the  many  branch  shops  and 
went  in.  Sunny  ordered  her  repast. 

"Tea  and  scone  and  butter." 

Bert  ordered,  "  Corfee  and  toast." 

Lord  Dobrington  hesitated. 

"You  could  have  a  egg  if  you  wanted,"  Sunny  whis- 
pered. "If  you  feel  like  going  to  it,  eggs  is  tuppence, 
but  they  are  all  right!" 

"  I'll  have  the  same  as  you, "  he  said. 

Lord  Dobrington  did  not  know  when  he  had  enjoyed 
a  lunch  so.  He  thought  the  coffee  was  excellent — or  was 
it  tea?  He  forgot.  The  scone  and  butter  were  some- 
thing to  remember.  He  thought  of  the  champagne  and 
the  many  courses  of  his  usual  restaurants,  and  he  did  not 


92  Sunny  Ducrow 

regret  them.  When  lunch  was  over,  Sunny  captured  her 
own  bill. 

"Won't  you  let  me?"  he  asked. 

"What!     Pay  for  me?  "she  said.     "Why  should  you?" 

"But " 

"I  always  pay  for  myself,"  Sunny  said,  and  that 
ended  it. 

"Who  was  the  old  lady  that  I  see  you — saw  you,  I 
mean — coming  out  of  the  photographer's  with?"  Sunny 
asked. 

"That  was  the  Countess  of  Blessendale, "  he  said, 
"my  mother." 

"Your  mother?  She's  nice-looking — cold  a  bit,  I 
thought,  but  very  handsome.  Thinks  a  lot  of  you,  I'll 
bet!" 

He  laughed,  and  colored  in  his  boyish  way. 

"She  thinks  more  of  me  than  I  deserve, "  he  said. 

"You  didn't  ought  to  say  that,"  Sunny  said.  "I'm 
only  a  girl" — she  paused — "and  worked  in  a  pickle 
factory  alongside  Bert  here " 

Bert  nodded. 

"Wish  I  was  back  there  again,  I  do!"  he  said. 

"Only  if  I  was  a  man  and  had  a  mother  of  my  own, " 
Sunny  went  on,  "I'd  say  to  myself,  ' I'm  going  to  be  just 
what  my  mother  wants  me  to  be.  I'm  going  to  show  her 
I'm  fit  to  be  her  son.'  That's  the  way  I  look  at  it." 

"And  the  right  way, "  Dobrington  said. 

"If  I  was  a  man,  I'd  try  and  win  every  woman's 
respect,"  Sunny  said.  "But  the  woman  whose  respect 
I'd  want  most  'ud  be  my  mother's.  Me!  I  ain't  got  a 
mother."  Her  voice  trembled  a  little.  "  I  wish  I  'ad, " 
she  said.  "I'd  like  to  work  for  'er  and  make  'er  'appy. 
I'd  like  to  have  a  mother  to  watch  me  get  on  and  feel 
proud  of  me.  It's  different  with  aunts.  Aunts  ain't 
mothers."  She  sighed. 


The  Right  Way  93 

But  now  it  was  time  to  go.  They  must  hurry,  for 
there  was  a  matine'e  at  half-past  two. 

"  You'll  have  to  take  a  cab, "  Dobrington  said. 

"Not  me;  I'll  run  for  it.  A  run'll  do  us  good;  won't 
it,  Bert?" 

"But  do  allow  me,"  he  said.     "I'd  love " 

Sunny  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  She  smiled  frankly. 
"I'm  glad  to  know  you,"  she  said.  She  looked  him 
straight  in  the  eyes.  "I  like  you,"  she  said  frankly. 
"You're  one  of  the  sort  I  like." 

"Thank  you, "  he  said.  "You  don't  think,  you  don't 
know,  how  much  I  appreciate  that.  I  shall  remember 
it." 

"That's  all  right,"  Sunny  said.     "So-long!" 

They  were  rather  out  of  breath  by  the  time  they 
reached  the  theatre. 

"What  about  that  feller?"  Bert  asked. 

"What  feller?" 

"The  vis-count." 

"What  about  him?"  Sunny  asked. 

"You  look  out,  that's  all,"  Bert  said. 

"What  are  you  talking  about?" 

"You'll  be  marrying  him  afore  long  if  you  don't  look 
out." 

"Me!"  Sunny  laughed.  "'Ow  can  I  marry  'im? 
Ain't  you  and  me  engaged  to  git  married  in  twenty 
years  or  thereabouts?" 

Bert  wagged  his  head. 

"A  feller  don't  look  at  no  girl  like  he  looked  at  you 
more'n  once  'less  he  means  something.  I  know,  I  do. 
You'll  find  yourself  a  she-viscount,  or  whatever  they  call 
it,  if  you  don't  look  out.  I'll  bet  he's  thinking  about  you 
and  'im  getting  married." 

Sunny  laughed. 

"You  go  and  eat  coke!"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XI 

STILL  GETTING   ON! 

'T'HERE  were  three  of  them  in  Mr.  Hemmingway's 
1  private  office  when  Sunny  went  in — Mr.  Hem- 
mingway  himself,  Mr.  Rostheimer,  and  Signor  Posetti, 
the  musical  conductor. 

"Come  in,  Miss  Ducrow, "  Mr.  Hemmingway  said. 

"I'm  coming,"  Sunny  said.  She  came  into  the  room 
and  nodded  to  them.  "Here  I  am!  You  sent  for 
me?" 

Mr.  Hemmingway  coughed. 

"You  know,  of  course,  that  we  shall  be  taking  off 
Keep  off  the  Grass  in  five  weeks'  time?" 

"I  know,"  she  said. 

"Miss  Montressor,  unfortunately,  has  an  engagement 
that  will  take  her  to  America  for  some  time.  Miss 
Blythedale  will  take  the  lead  in  the  new  thing." 

Sunny  nodded. 

"She  ought  to  do  all  right,"  she  said  generously. 
"  She's  pretty,  and  got  a  lovely  voice.  I'll  love  to  see  her 
take  the  lead,  I  shall.  I  know  she'll  do  well." 

Mr.  Rostheimer  lifted  his  fat  hands. 

"Gootness!"  he  said.  "And  dis  is  von  voman  sbeak- 
ing  of  another!  Vil  der  heavens  fall,  or  vat  is  it?" 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  Sunny  said. 

"Now,  Miss  Ducrow,  we  want  you  to  have  a  more 
prominent  part  in  the  new  revue,  which  is  to  be  called, 
Look  Out  There!" 

94 


Still  Getting  On!  95 

"I  don't  mind,"  Sunny  said,  "if  you  don't.  Only  no 
pickle-factory  girls  for  me  this  time.  See?" 

"  No, "  he  said  thoughtfully.     "What  about  a  coster? " 

Sunny  flushed. 

"I  told  you,  no  corsters  for  me!  Next  part  I  take  is 
going  to  be  a  young-lady  part.  Oh,"  she  cried,  "you 
needn't  smile!  You  don't  think  I  can  do  it ?  Very  well, 
then,  listen  to  me.  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Hemmingway,  I 
really  could  not  consider  taking  the  part  of  a  person  in  a 
lowly  walk  of  life.  I  infinitely  prefer  to  take  the  character 
of  a  young  lady  of  some  intelligence  and  education.  Do 
I  make  myself  plain?  I  trust  I  do.  Excuse  me  for 
putting  my  views  before  you  in  this  manner,  but  I  really 
wish  you  to  quite  understand  me,  that  I  am  entirely 
capable  of  taking  the  part  of  a  person  of  education. 
See?"  Sunny  paused. 

They  stared  at  her. 

"Dot  girl,  she  drive  me  silly  mit  laughing,"  said 
Rostheimer.  "What  game  she  up  to  now,  eh?" 

"Half  a  moment, "  Sunny  said.  " I  haven't  done  yet. 
Permit  me,  Mr.  Hemmingway  and  you  gentlemen;  there 
is  something  I  would  like  to  say,  or,  rather,  to  do,  that 
will  prove  my  contention  that  I  am  perfectly  qualified  to 
take  a  better  part  than  that  which  you  propose  allotting 
to  me.  Have  I  your  permission?" 

"Oh,  go  on,  fire  away!"  Hemmingway  said. 

Sunny  stood  up  before  them;  her  face  was  grave. 

"'The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strain'd, '"  she  said. 
"'It  droppeth,  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven  upon  the 
place  beneath.'"  She  went  on  from  beginning  to  end. 
It  was  Portia's  speech,  and  she  was  letter  perfect.  Not 
that  alone,  but  she  acted  her  part;  her  gestures  were 
admirable,  her  intonation,  her  expression,  all  that  could 
be  desired.  The  three  stared  at  her. 

"Dot   girl  is  von  great  surbrise-backet, "  Mr.  Rost- 


96  Sunny  Ducrow 

heimer  said.  "  I  don't  know  what  she  do  next.  It  make 
me  laugh  in  my  sides.  Ho,  ho,  ho!" 

Sunny  climbed  down  with  a  gesture  of  relief. 

"Now  you've  got  it!"  she  said.  "You  think  I'm  not 
good  for  nothing  but  corster  parts  or  pickle-factory  parts. 
You  think,  because  I  talk  in  the  way  I  like  to  talk  in,  I'm 
not  good  at  nothing  except  low  parts;  but  you're  off  the 
line.  You  give  me  young-lady  parts,  nice  and  ladylike." 

"I  believe,  by  George,  you  could  do  it!"  Mr. 
Hemmingway  said. 

"Try  me,"  Sunny  said. 

"Look  here!  In  this  revue  there's  a  girl  who  runs 
away  from  school.  Lady  Maud,  she's  called.  She  runs 
away  from  school  and  joins  a  travelling  circus  for  love  of 
adventure.  It's  a  good  part;  heaps  of  fun  and  go  in  it. 
We  thought  of  someone  else,  but — "  He  paused.  He 
looked  at  Rostheimer. 

"Oh,  for  goodness'  sake  led  her  haf  it!  I'm  gedding 
to  believe  that  that  girl  could  blay  anything." 

"  You  leave  it  to  me, "  Sunny  said.  "Am  I  to  have  the 
part  or  not?" 

"There  are  three  songs  in  it, "  Mr.  Hemmingway  said. 

"  Make  it  four, "  Sunny  said. 

"Three,"  Hemmingway  said.  "And  that's  two  more 
than  you've  been  doing.  And  two  of  them  are  fairly 
heavy  songs;  not  tripe  like  that  Piccalilli  thing." 

"It's  a  better  tune  than  you  can  write  any  day!" 
Sunny  said. 

Signor  Posetti  smiled.     He  had  written  the  tune. 

"Oh,  I  don't  say  anything  about  the  tune,  but  I  say 
the  words  are  tripe.  These  songs  are  good — two  of  them 
big." 

"All  the  better,"  Sunny  said. 

"Let's see."  Hemmingway  paused.  "How long  have 
you  been  on  the  stage,  Miss  Ducrow? " 


Still  Getting  On!  97 

"Three  months, "  Sunny  said. 

"Three  months,  and  yet  you  are  going  to  play  second 
lead ! "  Hemmingway  said.  "You  seem  to  be  getting  on, 
MissDucrow!" 

"That's  what  I  am  here  for,"  Sunny  said.  "In  six 
months  I'll  be  playing  lead.  You  don't  believe  it?" 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"  Rostheimer  was  laughing. 

" Go  on;  you'll  split  your  sides.  What's  the  matter?" 
Sunny  said. 

"  Madder !  You  make  me  laugh,  that's  all.  You  blay 
de  lead  in  six  months!" 

"Betcher!"  Sunny  said. 

"I  bet  you  a  hundred  pounds  to — to  von  shilling  dat 
you  dond  blay  lead  inside  six  months  from  dis  day," 
Rostheimer  said. 

Sunny  modded. 

"You  start  saving  up  that  hundred  pounds,  old  dear. 
Six  months!  I  shan't  forget.  It'll  be  something  towards 
my  new  motor-car.  Anyhow,  I'm  to  play  Lady  Maud?" 

"Yes, "  Hemmingway  said. 

"That's  settled,  then,"  Sunny  said.  "Now,  what 
about  Bert?" 

"I  fancy  Jackson  can  look  after  himself.  He's  in  the 
chorus,  of  course." 

"I've  got  to  look  after  Bert.  He's  like  most  men — 
he  can't  do  anything  for  himself.  He  done — did — pretty 
well  in  the  last.  He's  to  have  a  song  in  the  new  thing — 
Look  Out  There!" 

"Song!     He  couldn't  sing,"  Hemmingway  said. 

"He's  going  to  sing, "  Sunny  said.  "He's  got  to  sing. 
I  know  what  Bert  can  do  and  I  know  what  he  can't  do." 

"He's  got  no  voice,"  Hemmingway  said.  "It's 
impossible." 

"That's  it.  He's  got  no  voice  and  he  can't  sing — 
not  for  toffee!  But,  all  the  same,  he's  going  to  have  a 

7 


98  Sunny  Ducrow 

song — something  slow  and  sad-like, "  Sunny  said.  She 
turned  to  Posetti.  "You  f oiler  me?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  I  tink  so.  I  tink,  Mr.  Hemmingway — I  tink 
Miss  Ducrow  is  right.  I  see  it.  Leave  it  to  me." 

Sunny  smiled.  She  and  Posetti  were  allies — friends. 
The  little  Italian  was  vain  and  susceptible  to  flattery  and 
admiration.  Sunny  genuinely  admired  his  talents,  and 
told  him  so. 

"I  don't  know,"  Hemmingway  said,  "I  don't  know. 
I  can't  see  that  fellow  singing." 

"You'll  hear  him  all  right,  though,"  Sunny  said. 
"You  leave  it  to  the  signor  and  me.  And  now,"  she 
said,  "about  money." 

Hemmingway  looked  at  her. 

"You — you  avaricious  little  person!"  he  said. 

' '  I've  got  to  be.  I've  got  to  look  after  myself.  There's 
no  one  to  look  after  me."  Sunny  paused.  "Playing 
second  lead,  I  ought  to  be  getting" — she  paused — "a 
'fiver.'" 

"Oh,  very  well,"  he  said. 

"And  Bert '11  want  three  to  start  with,  and  if  his  song 
goes — as  I  know  it  will — he'll  want  five." 

"I'll  see,"  Hemmingway  said. 

"Now's  the  time,"  Sunny  said.  "Let's  have  it — yes 
or  no?" 

"Yes.     All  right.     Very  well." 

"That's  settled,  then.  I'll  be  glad  to  have  my  part 
when  it's  ready,  so  I  can  study  up." 

She  went  out ;  the  signor  went  out  with  her. 

"Sunny,  you  have  been  foolish, "  he  said. 

"Me?" 

"Yes.  You  were  too  queek.  You  say  to  Hemming- 
vay  you  vant  a  'fiver.'  Hemmingvay  was  ready  to  pay 
you  eight  or  ten  if  you  stand  out.  See?" 

"That's  all  right, "  Sunny  said.     " I  reckoned  on  five. 


Still  Getting  On!  99 

Five's  good  enough  to  go  on  with.  It's  no  good  opening 
your  mouth  too  wide,  is  it?" 

"But  all  zee  same " 

"All  right.  This  time  next  year  I'll  be  getting 
twenty,"  Sunny  said — "at  least,"  she  added,  "perhaps 
more.  You  never  know.  Besides,  I've  got  Bert  fixed 
up  all  right,  and  that's  something." 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   NEW    REVUE 

JfEEP  off  the  Grass,  the  very  successful  revue,  had 
*V  come  to  an  end.  The  newspapers  bewailed  the 
fact  that  Miss  Montressor,  the  popular  leading  lady, 
would  be  seen  no  more  in  London  for  some  considerable 
time. 

She  was  leaving  for  the  States  in  a  few  days  to  fulfil 
a  long  engagement,  and  this  was  the  main  reason  for  the 
change  of  programme.  But  the  new  revue,  Look  Out 
There!  was  being  advertised  freely,  with  Miss  Grace 
Blythedale  in  the  leading  part. 

"I  see  they  ain't  advertising  your  name,  Sunny," 
Bert  Jackson  said. 

Sunny  looked  up. 

"What  are  you  grousing  about  now?"  she  said. 
' '  Advertising  my  name !  What  next  ? ' ' 

"  Didn't  they  ought  to ? "  he  said.  "Ain't  you  playing 
second  lead?" 

Sunny  nodded. 

"Look  'ere,  Bert,  you  re  looking  for  trouble,  you  are. 
They  ain't  advertising  my  name  yet,  but  you  wait  a  bit, 
then  you'll  see  'Sunny  Ducrow'  on  every  blooming 
hoarding  in  London,  and  it  won't  be  long  neither."  She 
laughed,  showing  her  white,  even  teeth.  "Some  time 
or  other  the  people  of  London'll  be  about  fed-up  with 
Sunny  Ducrow." 

1 '  Huh !  Wait  and  see,  "Bert  said.  ' '  Only  I  thought, 

100 


The  New  Revue  101 

as  you  was  playing  second  lead,  they  ought  to  advertise 
you  a  bit." 

"That's  all  right;  don't  you  worry,"  Sunny  said. 

"Second  lead!"  said  Mrs.  Melkin.  "That's  just  it. 
Second  lead,  and  going  to  get  five  pounds  every  week, 
and  'ere — 'ere  we  stay  in  these  mis'rable  lodgings,  not 
fit  for  a  girl  like  Sunny,  they  ain't!" 

' ' They  ain't  so  dusty, ' '  Sunny  said.  "I've  seen  worse. 
Anyhow,  they're  a  bit  better'n  we  been  used  to,  old 
dear." 

"In  the  old  days,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said,  "when  I  was  a 
'appy  wife,  I  'ad  a  parlor  with  a  Kiddyminster  carpet 
and " 

Sunny  made  a  sign  to  Bert.  She  knew  what  was 
coming,  and  she  slid  towards  the  door. 

"We'll  'ave  to  be  moving  for  rehearsal,  Bert,"  she 
said.  "Come  on!  So-long,  auntie." 

"And  chairs  as  we  didn't  'ave  to  use  one  year's  end 
to  the  other,  their  legs  a-standing  on  little  square  bits  of 
lonelium  so  as  not  to  mark  the  carpet,  and  the  round 
table  in  the  middle " 

But  Sunny  and  Bert  had  escaped. 

"Poor  old  dear!"  Sunny  said.  "She  do  kind  of  live 
in  the  past,  don't  she?  Now  that's  where  she  and  me 
is  different,  Bert.  She  lives  in  the  past,  and  me,  I  live  in 
the  future.  See?  *Et  ain't  with  me  what  I  been  or  what 
I  am.  It's  what  I'm  going  to  be  and  what  I'm  going  to 
do.  That's  how  it  is." 

"Huh!"  said  Bert.  He  hunched  his  shoulders.  "I 
gotter  sing  a  song  in  this  new  thing, "  he  said.  "Wish  I 
was  dead." 

"Oh,  well,  you  go  on  wishing  long  enough  and  it'll 
come  true,"  Sunny  said.  "Got  your  song  yet?" 

He  nodded  gloomily. 

" I  got  the  words, "  he  said,  "and  the  music's  all  right, 


102  Sunny  Ducrow 

I  s'pose,  for  them  as  can  read  it.  Old  Posetti  made  me 
try  it  over  last  night,  and  he  laughed."  Bert  paused. 
"Never  see  a  chap  laugh  like  it,"  he  said  gloomily. 
"Laughed  till  the  tears  run  down  'is  ugly  mug.  When 
I  got  'ome  I  thought  I'd  try  it  over  a  bit  by  myself  in 
my  room,  I  did — "  He  paused. 

"Well?"  Sunny  asked. 

"I  got  the  words  all  right;  rotten  words  they  are,  too 
— all  about  flowers  and  roses.  Father  come  up  and 
arsted  me  if  I  was  really  ill,  or  only  pretending,  and  when 
I  told  'im  I  was  singing,  he  lathered  me  with  the  strap!" 
Bert  paused. 

"I  don't  think  much  of  that  song.  It  ain't  my  style. 
That's  a  good  song,  now,  about  the  diver.  You  know,  the 
chap  as  goes  diving  about  for  treasures  in  the  sea  and 
dying  lonely  in  the  end.  That's  the  sort  of  thing  as  'ud 
suit  me;  not  a  thing  all  about  being  'appy  and  roses  and 
being  gay  and  rubbish!"  He  paused. 

"Father  lammed  in  all  ri',  he  did!"  he  added.  "I 
wish — I  wish  I  was  back  at  the  pickles,  Sunny!" 

"You  don't  in  your  'eart!"  Sunny  said 

Bert  sniffed. 

"I  love  the  smell  of  b'iling  vinegar, "  he  said,  "and  ras'- 
berry  jam  on  a  'ot  summer  day ;  there  ain't  nothink  like  it ! " 

"There  ain't!"  Sunny  said  decidedly. 

The  deep  gloom  and  wretchedness  which  seemed  to  be 
Bert's  character  had  wholly  taken  possession  of  him  now. 
He  looked  the  picture  of  intense  and  abject  misery. 
Never  a  smile  came  on  his  lips. 

The  other  girls  asked  Sunny  what  ailed  him — was  he 
in  love,  or  had  he  some  incurable  disease,  or  what  was  his 
trouble  ? 

"He  likes  being  like  that,  that's  all,"  Sunny  said. 
"He  ain't  never  thoroughly  'appy  unless  he's  utterly 
mis'rable— that's  Bert ! " 


The  New  Revue  103 

At  first  sight  it  seemed  to  Sunny  that  the  song  Signer 
Posetti  had  selected  for  Bert  was  most  unsuitable.  It 
was  called,  She  Gave  me  a  Bouquet  of  Roses. 

When  Sunny  read  the  words  she  could  not  see  much 
point  in  them.  To-day,  on  the  stage,  when  they  were 
rehearsing  the  new  revue ,  Signer  Posetti  insisted  on  Bert 
singing  his  song. 

"  I've  forgot  the  chune ! "  Bert  said.  "  'Ow  can  I  learn 
myself  the  chune  when  I  can't  read  the  music?  'Ow- 
ever " 

He  turned  his  eyes  upwards.  The  orchestra  struck 
up. 

"'Ow  does  it  start?"  Bert  inquired.  "Blowed  if  I 
ain't  forgot  the  words  as  well  as  the  chune  now!" 

"'She  gave  me  a  bouquet  of  roses,'"  said  the  signer, 
"  'because  she  loved  me  so'" 

"Ah,  that's  it!"  Bert  began. 

"You  haf  the  tune  not  got,"  said  the  signer. 

"I  told  you  I  'adn't,"  Bert  said. 

He  made  another  start.  This  time,  if  possible,  it  was 
worse  than  before.  The  tune  he  hit  on  was  something 
between  Rule,  Britannia!  and  Little  Grey  Home  in  the 
West. 

Someone  laughed.    Bert  looked  round. 

"  I  wish  you  'ad  this  job ! "  he  said.  "  I  didn't  arst  for  it, 
neither.  ' She  gave  me  a  bookay  of  roses,  because '" 

Two  or  three  began  to  laugh  now. 

"  Don't  take  any  notice, "  Signor  Posetti  said. 

He  was  laughing  himself,  shaking,  and  the  tears  were 
rolling  down  his  good-natured  little  face.  Looking  at 
Bert  only  made  him  laugh  the  more.  The  expression  of 
intense  misery  on  Bert's  face  was  beyond  description 
funny. 

A  few  minutes  and  the  whole  stage  was  in  a  roar. 
Sunny  herself  was  laughing  weakly.  She  was  leaning 


104  Sunny  Ducrow 

against  the  wings  laughing,  while  the  tears  rained  dowr 
her  face. 

"Look  'ere!"  Bert  demanded  in  a  loud  voice.  "Is 
this  a  comic  song,  or  what?" 

" Don't  take  any  notice.  Continue.  It  is  excellent!" 
the  signor  said. 

"Oh  dear,  oh  dear!"  he  sighed,  when  Bert  had  got  to 
the  end.  "If  dis  does  not  bring  down  ze  house  I  don't 
know  any  sing !" 

"Glad  I've  amused  you  all!"  Bert  said  savagely.  "I 
didn't  set  up  to  be  no  singer.  If  I'd  bragged  about  my 
singing  it  'ud  'ave  been  different,  but  I  didn't.  I  never 
said  I  could  sing.  I  wish  to  'evings " 

He  paused. 

"Say  it!  Say  it!"  said  Jakes  the  stage-manager. 
" Say  it,  man;  get  it  off  your  chest ! " 

"Well,  I  do  wish  to  'evings  I  was  back  at  the  pickles!" 
Bert  said. 

The  girls  of  the  chorus,  who  had  seen  Sunny  come 
among  them  an  entire  stranger,  a  small,  ragged,  red- 
haired  girl  from  the  slums,  from  a  pickle  factory,  and  had 
seen  her  thrust  herself  into  a  part,  make  a  part  for  herself 
and  achieve  success  in  it,  had  looked  with  a  certain 
amount  of  amusement  at  her  cheek.  Now  Sunny  Du- 
crow was  to  play  second  lead,  they  did  not  feel  quite  so 
amused. 

" She's  the  limit ' "  Miss  Kitty  Bennington  said.  "She 
ought  to  be  put  down.  A  jumped-up  little  gutter- 
sparrow!" 

Sunny  had  met  with  friendliness  from  the  other  girls 
till  now.  Now  there  was  a  visible  change  in  their  de- 
meanor towards  her.  No  one  was  eager  to  lend  her 
their  sticks  of  grease  paint ;  no  one  seemed  at  all  anxious 
to  help  her  in  trifling  matters.  She  got  cold  glances  and 
harsh  speeches. 


The  New  Revue  105 

Sunny  smiled. 

"Poor  dears!"  she  said.  "It's  just  as  I  expected; 
they  can't  'elp  it.  It's  a  sign  I'm  getting  on.  No  girl 
don't  get  on  in  this  world  without  other  girls  getting  sore 
about  it." 

But  Sunny's  sweetness  and  good  nature  never  deserted 
her.  She  smiled  in  response  to  a  harsh  word.  She  never 
lost  her  temper.  Day  after  day  it  seemed  to  grow  worse. 
The  other  girls  shunned  her  as  though  she  had  the 
plague,  but  the  smile  never  left  Sunny's  lips.  They  had 
confidently  counted  on  her  making  an  utter  and  entire 
failure  of  the  part  of  Lady  Maud. 

"A  gutter-snipe  like  that  play  an  aristocratic  part! 
It's  rot!"  Miss  Bennington  said.  "You  see,  she'll  come 
an  awful  cracker." 

They  waited  for  Sunny  to  come  the  "awful  cracker," 
but  she  did  not.  She  drifted  into  the  part.  It  suited  her 
as  neatly  as  a  well-made  glove  might.  She  was  Lady 
Maud,  dainty  and  dignified,  full  of  fun.  Never  a  vul- 
garism came  from  her  lips.  The  girls  stared  at  her. 

"She's  as  common  as  dirt  really,"  Miss  Bennington 
said.  "How  does  she  manage  it?" 

She  played  the  part  of  the  well-born  girl  as  though  to 
the  manner  born,  and  as  though  she  had  been  highly 
educated  and  had  been  finished  off  at  an  expensive 
school — Eastbourne  or  Tunbridge  Wells  way,  for  all 
that  anyone  could  tell  from  her  accent.  She  never 
dropped  an  "h." 

No  one  knew  of  the  hours  of  study  she  put  in  with  the 
patient  old  Mr.  Gibbins,  who  had  come  to  regard  Sunny 
Ducrow  as  the  apple  of  his  eye.  He  was  poor  and 
shabby,  he  had  neither  kith  nor  kin,  and  the  very  few 
shillings  a  week  that  he  earned  barely  kept  body  and  soul 
together  under  his  thin,  worn  coat. 

He  came  every  morning  to  find  a  nice,  hot  breakfast 


106  Sunny  Ducrow 

waiting  for  him.  At  first  he  demurred;  he  said  that  he 
had  breakfasted. 

"You've  got  to  eat  your  breakfast  or  I  don't  take  no 
lesson, "  Sunny  said. 

So  Mr.  Gibbins  took  his  breakfast,  and  after  that  it 
became  a  settled  thing. 

"It's  like  this, "  Sunny  said.  "I've  got  to  know  how 
to  speak  properly,  so  as  I  can  speak  all  right  when  I'm  on 
the  stage.  Me,  personally" — she  paused — "the  way  I 
speaks  is  good  enough  for  me  every  day.  See?  I  come 
out  of  a  pickle  factory.  I  wasn't  nothing,  and  I  don't 
mean  to  pertend  I  ever  was;  but  I'm  going  to  get  on,  old 
dear;  and  you're  a-going  to  'elp  me." 

He  nodded.  Yes,  he  wanted  to  help  her,  and  Sunny 
wanted  to  learn.  The  result  was  satisfactory.  Sunny 
learned  whole  pages  of  Shakespeare.  She  could  stand  up 
and  recite  them  with  impressive  gestures  and  a  perfection 
of  speech  that  would  have  surprised  Bill  Wilkins  of 
Johnson's  Pickle  Factory  if  he  could  have  heard. 

So,  unknown  to  anyone  but  her  aunt  and  old  Gibbins, 
and  perhaps  Bert,  Sunny  studied  hard  morning  after 
morning.  She  read  aloud;  she  held  imaginary  conversa- 
tions with  her  old  tutor.  In  a  thousand  and  one  ways  he 
corrected  her  in  his  gentle  manner,  and  Sunny  never  for- 
got the  correction,  never  repeated  the  mistake.  Never 
had  a  man  a  more  willing  or  more  intelligent  pupil.  She 
learned  to  recite  with  feeling  and  expression  most  of  the 
speeches  of  the  greatest  of  Shakespeare's  heroines — Rosa- 
lind and  Juliet,  Portia  and  Ophelia — and  no  one,  to  hear 
her,  could  ever  guess  that  she  even  knew  what  the  inside 
of  a  pickle  factory  was  like. 

"  It  isn't  because  I  once  worked  in  a  pickle  factory, " 
she  said  to  him,  "that  I'm  going  to  spend  all  my  life 
smelling  the  boiling  vinegar.  See  ?  I've  left  that  behind 
me  for  good." 


The  New  Revue  107 

She  laughed  and  flung  her  head  back,  and  the  old  man 
laughed  too,  because  it  did  him  good  to  see  her  progress. 

"You  are  the  most  wonderful  child  in  the  world,"  he 
said.  "  I  never  knew  another  girl  like  you.  One  day — 
there  is  no  knowing — one  day  you  may  reach  great 
heights." 

"That,  "said  Sunny,  "is  what  I  am  after  all  the  time. 
They  thought  at  the  theatre  I  couldn't  play  a  twopenny- 
ha'penny  part  like  Lady  Maud  in  the  revue.  They  don't 
know,  do  they?  One  day  I'll  play  Hamlick " 

"Hamlet — but  you  can't;  it's  a  man's  part." 

"Then  Ophelia;  it's  all  the  same;  though  I  should 
like  Rosalind  best.  That  would  be  more  in  my  line," 
she  said. 

Miss  Montressor  was  going.  In  a  few  days  she  would 
sail.  And  Miss  Montressor  was  giving  a  little  dinner- 
party to  a  few  intimate  friends. 

"  I'll  miss  her  something  dreadful, "  Sunny  said.  "She 
was  good  to  me.  It  was  her  give  me  my  first  start,  and 
I  shan't  ever  forget  that.  I'd  like  to  see  her  and  say 
good-bye  and  wish  her  luck,  and  thank  her  for  all  she  done 
for  me, "  Sunny  said. 

She  never  thought  she  would  get  the  opportunity; 
but  she  did.  The  unexpected  invitation  from  Miss 
Montressor  came  to  Sunny  at  the  theatre.  On  the  back 
was  scribbled : 

"DEAR  SUNNY, — Do  come!  I  would  love  to  see  you 
and  say  good-bye.  If  you  feel  that  you  cannot  come 
without  Bert,  bring  him  too,  of  course. — Lovingly, 
L.M." 

"She's  a  dear!"  Sunny  said. 

In  her  joy  and  high  spirits  she  showed  the  card  to 
some  of  the  other  girls. 


io8  Sunny  Ducrow 

"'They  are  making  a  fool  of  the  brat, "  Miss  Benning- 
ton  said.  "It's  disgusting!  Fancy  asking  her!  Why, 
even  Grace  Blythedale  hasn't  been  asked!" 

Bert  refused  to  come. 

"Not  me!"  he  said.  "One  thing,  I  don't  want  to  go; 
another  thing,  I  ain't  got  no  evening  clothes.  I  ain't 
going,  Sunny!" 

"You  didn't  ought  to  refuse,  Bert.  See  what  she's 
done  for  us  both!" 

"For  you,"  he  said.  "She  didn't  worry  her  head 
about  me;  it  was  all  for  you.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  you 
standing  out  for  it,  I  should  be  still  at  the  pickle  factory 
now,  and  I  wish  to  'evings " 

He  paused. 

"You  was, "  Sunny  said.  "But  you  ain't,  Bert ;  you've 
got  to  come." 

"I  ain't  going,"  Bert  said. 

And  he  did  not.  That  settled  it,  so  Sunny  went 
alone. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

MAKING   TERMS 

WHEN  Hurlingham's  portrait  of  Sunny  appeared  in 
the  Illustrated it  attracted  more  attention 

than  most  other  portraits  of  celebrities.  People  asked 
one  another  who  Miss  Sunny  Ducrow  was.  They  did 
not  know  the  name.  It  was  not  everyone  in  London 
who  had  been  to  see  the  revue,  Keep  off  the  Grass.  Those 
who  had,  knew,  of  course;  but  they  were  few  compared 
with  the  many  who  had  not.  The  Laughing  Girl  was 
a  success.  One  of  the  leading  comic  papers  parodied  it, 
putting  instead  of  Sunny's  face  that  of  a  well-known 
statesman,  and  it  all  advertised  Sunny.  The  result  was 
letters — a  shoal  of  letters — and  not  a  few  of  them  were 
from  photographers. 

"MADAM, — If  you  have  not  yet  made  arrangements 
with  regard  to  your  photographs — picture  post  cards 
and  portraits  for  the  illustrated  papers,  etc.— we  shall 
be  glad  if  you  can  give  us  an  early  call,  with  a  view  to 
making  a  contract." 

There  were  half  a  dozen  or  more  of  these  letters,  and 
Sunny  carefully  put  them  on  one  side.  Day  after  day 
she  made  journeys  first  to  one,  then  to  another.  She 
heard  all  that  they  had  to  say,  listened  to  their  offers, 
and  did  nothing. 

"I'll  think  it  over,"  she  said.  "Anyway,  I  can't  do 
anything  yet;  it  depends  on  what  Mr.  Hurlingham  says." 

109 


no  Sunny  Ducrow 

And  now  to-day  had  come  the  time  for  her  visit  to 
the  eminent  photographer,  who  had  done  remarkably 
well  out  of  Sunny  so  far. 

There  was  no  question  about  her  admittance  this 
time.  The  young  lady  who  had  at  first  snubbed  her 
received  her  with  smiles.  She  showed  Sunny  into  a  cosy 
little  waiting-room. 

"  Mr.  Hurlingham  will  be  with  you  in  a  few  minutes, 
Miss  Ducrow, "  she  said.  "  He  will  not  keep  you  waiting 
long." 

"Nearly  fell  over  herself,"  Sunny  thought.  "Lor', 
what  a  difference  time  do  bring  sometimes,  don't  it?" 

Prominent  among  the  papers  in  the  waiting-room  was 
the  particular  issue  of  that  paper  in  which  The  Laughing 
Girl  appeared.  There  was  also  a  huge  enlargement  of 
the  same  picture  hanging  over  the  mantelpiece.  In  fact, 
wherever  Sunny  looked  she  saw  reproductions  large  and 
small. 

"I  should  think  they'd  get  fair  fed  up  with  my  mug 
here, "  she  thought. 

Mr.  Hurlingham  came  in.  "Good  morning,  Miss 
Ducrow.  I  trust  I  have  not  kept  you  waiting?" 

"Of  course  you  have,"  Sunny  said.  "But  nothing  as 
you  need  worry  about.  Now,  then,  what  I  want  to  know 
is,  how  are  we  going  on?" 

"How  are  we  going  on?"  He  looked  at  her.  "I 
don't  quite  follow." 

"Done  pretty  well  out  of  that,  didn't  you?"  Sunny 
said.  She  pointed  to  the  enlargement. 

"Yes,  yes,  fairly;  in  a  small  way,  it  was  quite 
successful!" 

Sunny  looked  at  him  hard.     He  might  be  a  clever 
artist,  but  he  was  also  a  clever  business  man,  and  she 
was  no  fool  either.     It  was  likely  to  be  a  battle  of  wits. 
"Well,  I'm  glad  I  did  you  a  turn,"  she  said.     "It's 


Making  Terms  m 

done  and  over  now.     You  asked  me  to  call  to-day ;  so  I've 
called,  and  that's  all  about  it." 

"How  do  you  mean  'all  about  it'?" 

"Well,  we've  settled  up  now,  ain't  we?  I  sat  for  you 
and  you  paid  me;  now  I'm  going  to  sit  for  someone  else." 

"You — you  have  not  made  any — any  other  arrange- 
ments?" he  said  quickly. 

"No,  I  ain't,  because  I  promised  you  I  wouldn't  till  I'd 
seen  you  again.  Now  I've  seen  you,  I'm  going  off  this 
afternoon  to  make  arrangements  with  Billings  and  Wil- 
son. They've  offered  me  about  the  best  terms,  though 
De  Lisle  and  Bernard's  and  the  rest  are  pretty  liberal, 
too!" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  said. 

"What  I  mean  is  this,"  Sunny  said.  "I've  got  about 
six  contracts  waiting  for  me  to  sign,  and  I  can  choose 
the  one  I  like  best.  Like  the  game,  ain't  it?"  She 
smiled  at  him.  "Sally  Waters,  you  know!" 

" I  don't  know  the  young  lady, "  he  said  stiffly.  "Let 
me  understand,  Miss  Ducrow.  You  have  other  offers?" 

"'Eaps!" 

"But  you  have  made  no  arrangements?" 

"Of  course  I  ain't.  I  told  you  I  wouldn't.  I  waited 
to  see  you.  ^ow  I've  seen  you,  I'm  off  to  Billings  and 
Wilson.  They  are  the  boys  for  my  money — I  mean 
their  money  and  my  face.  See? " 

He  did  see,  but  he  pretended  not  to. 
'I  am  willing,"  he  said  slowly,  "to  offer  you — ahem! 
— terms  for,  say,  three  sittings  a  year — once  every  four 
months — purely  pictorial  for  the  illustrated  papers." 

"Not  taking  any,"  Sunny  said.  "What  I  want  is 
this,  picture  post  cards " 

"I  never  touch  them,"  he  said.  "They  are  be- 
neath  " 

"All  right,  we've  done  then!"  Sunny  rose.      She  held 


Sunny  Ducrow 

out  her  hand.  "Good-day;  I'll  go  and  fix  up  with  Bill- 
ings and " 

"Wait  a  moment,"  he  said.  "I  say  that  I  never  do 
picture  post  cards;  they  are  rather  beneath  me.  Do  you 
understand?" 

"Well,  they  aren't  beneath  me,"  Sunny  said.  "I've 
got  to  advertise  and  go  on  advertising  all  the  time.  See? " 

"I  see  it  from  your  point  of  view,  but " 

"What's  the  use  me  wasting  your  time?  You  ain't 
going  to  make  post  cards  of  me.  Very  well,  then;  good- 
bye and " 

"Wait!"  he  said.  "I  might— I  say  I  might  feel  in- 
clined to  enter  a  branch  of  work  that  hitherto " 

"  Get  it  off  your  chest ! "  Sunny  said.  "  It  amounts  to 
this.  I  owe  you  something  for  doing  me  well  with  that 
picture.  You  done  yourself  well  at  the  same  time.  I 
know  that  all  right.  Anyhow,  there  it  is.  What  I  want 
is  this."  She  sat  down  and  faced  him.  "One  sitting  a 
month.  You  can  take  as  many  as  you  like.  Say  the 
first  of  every  month  I  come  here  for  an  hour,  and  you  can 
take  a  hundred  for  all  I  care.  Only  five  thousand  post 
cards  of  me  a  month.  I  don't  care  what  you  do  about 
the  picture  papers." 

"Well?  "he  said. 

"That's  twelve  times  I'll  come  here  a  year.  Twelve 
times  ten  is  a  'undred  and  twenty.  That's  what  I  want." 

"I  don't  understand,"  he  said.  "A  hundred  and 
twenty  what?" 

"  Pounds ! "  Sunny  said.  "  Ten  pounds  a  sitting,  that's 
my  price.  Take  it  or  leave  it  and  don't  forget,  either. 
Five  thousand  picture  post  cards  at  least  every  month; 
that's  sixty  thousand  a  year." 

"  My  dear  young  lady !     If  you  were  a  great  star " 

"Look  here,"  Sunny  said,  "we  can  cut  that  out.  I 
ain't  a  great  star  but  I'm  going  to  be  pretty  soon.  That's 


Making  Terms  113 

got  nothing  to  do  with  you,  except  that  your  picture 
post  cards  is  going  to  help  me  considerable.  You  need- 
n't do  it.  You've  only  got  to  say  no  and  there's  an  end 
to  it.  Billings  and  Wilson'll  give  me  them  terms;  they 
suggested  it  themselves.  I'm  offering  you  the  same 
terms  as  they  offered  me.  It  ain't  'arf  fair  to  them,  now 
I  come  to  think  about  it;  so  I'll  'ave  to  make  it  guineas, 
see,  to  make  it  fair  to  them.  A  hundred  and  twenty 
guineas  for  a  two-year  contrack!" 

"I  am  afraid — "  he  said. 

"All  right!"  Sunny  said.  She  rose  and  made  towards 
the  door. 

"One  moment,  Miss  Ducrow." 

"Look  'ere!"  Sunny  said.  "Yes  or  no?  It's  no  good 
us  acting  about.  Say  yes  and  I'll  stop.  Say  no  and  I'll 
go.  I  don't  want  to  waste  your  time  and  I  don't  want 
you  to  waste  mine.  See?" 

"I  see,"  he  said.     "But " 

"Yes  or  no, "  Sunny  said,  "and  finish  it!" 

He  stared  at  her  hard  for  a  moment;  then  a  smile 
dawned  on  his  face. 

"Yes,"  he  said  briefly. 

Sunny  came  slowly  back  and  sat  down.     "Now  we'll 
talk,"  she  said. 
l 


CHAPTER   XIV 

SUNNY   BREAKS   DOWN 

MISS  LESLIE  MONTRESSOR'S  rooms,  always 
charming,  were  looking  their  very  best  to-night,  as 
was  their  owner.  A  graceful  and  very  beautiful  woman, 
far  fitter  to  play  Shakespearian  or  old  English  comedy 
parts  than  light  revue  characters,  she  moved  gracefully 
about  her  rooms,  putting  a  finishing  touch  here  and 
there.  There  were  a  dozen  guests  in  all,  and  the  first 
was  arriving  now.  He  turned  out  to  be  Hemmingway. 

"  So  good  of  you  to  come ! "  she  said. 

"Good  of  you  to  ask  me,  Leslie.  By  George,  we'll 
miss  you  badly,  old  girl!" 

She  smiled. 

"I  shall  miss  you,  too;  all  my  friends  here,"  she  said. 
"I  shall  miss  my  little  home — all  my  dear  things — but 
ours  is  always  a  wandering  life.  An  actress  has  no  right 
to  a  home,  I  suppose."  She  sighed. 

"Oh,  for  goodness'  sake  don't  let  us  be  miserable 
to-night,  Leslie!"  he  said. 

"I  can't  help  it,  I  hate  going;  yet,  of  course,  I  have 
to  go.  One  grows  old,  and  one  must  make  all  one  can 
while  the  sun  shines.  I  don't  want  to  be  old  and  poor. 
It  will  be  bad  enough  to  be  old  without  being  anything 
else  horrible.  How  is  the  new  thing  shaping,  Max?" 

"Fine!"  he  said  briefly.  "Grace  Blythedale  isn't,  of 
course,  Leslie  Montressor,  but  she's  a  good  girl  and  looks 
the  part." 

"4 


Sunny  Breaks  Down  115 

"She  is  younger  than  I  am,  and  that  counts,"  Miss 
Montressor  said. 

' '  Younger !  Rot ! "  he  said.  ' '  She  is  younger  in  years, 
but  you  look  like  a  child  on  the  stage — a  child  with  the 
experience  of  a  finished  artiste."  He  sighed.  "How- 
ever, I  mustn't  grumble;  I've  got  the  next  best  in  Grace 
Blythedale,  and  then" — he  paused — "there's  that  pro- 
teg6e  of  yours,  the  little  Ducrow  girl — she's  shaping  fine." 

"I  knew  she  would!  I  was  right!"  she  said.  "It 
was  another  of  my  finds." 

"Not  another,  but  'the  Find,'"  he  said.  "That  girl 
will  go  far;  she's  barely  begun  yet.  George,"  he  said, 
"she  stood  up  and  spouted  Portia's  speech  as  to  the 
manner  born  the  other  day  before  old  Rostheimer  and 
Posetti  and  me.  It  made  my  hair  stand  up  on  end.  I 
didn't  think  she  had  it  in  her!  Leslie,  there's  something 
almost  uncanny  about  that  girl.  I  never  saw  any  girl 
with  such  ambition,  with  such  an  intense  desire — no,  not 
desire,  but  resolve,  to  get  on.  She  is  going  to  get  on. 
Her  will  will  beat  down  all  obstacles." 

"  I  believe  she'll  be  a  great  success — I  hope  so.  When 
I  come  back  I  shall  help  her  all  I  can.  Meanwhile,  you 
will  do  what  you  can  for  her,  Max?" 

"Trust  me!"  he  said. 

There  were  other  arrivals  now — Mr.  Rostheimer,  Miss 
Blythedale,  Mr.  Harvey  Daglan,  and  Lord  Dobrington. 
They  were  all  there,  and  one  or  two  whom  Sunny  did  not 
know,  when  she  arrived  a  little  later. 

"  Sorry  being  late ! "  she  said.  "  Only  it  was  a  long  way, 
and  I  missed  my  turning  twice!"  She  stood  and  looked 
round  the  room  and  laughed. 

"It's  just  the  same,  only  it  looks  different  somehow, " 
she  said.  "  I  suppose  it's  me  as  is  altered.  Miss? " 

"You  have  altered  a  little,  Sunny,"  Miss  Montressor 
said  smilingly. 


Sunny  Ducrow 

The  others  were  staring  at  the  small,  red-haired  girl. 
"Who  was  she?"  some  were  asking. 

"Dat  girl,"  Rostheimer  said,  with  a  fat -laugh,  "she 
drive  me  silly  mit  laughing  all  der  time!  Ho,  ho!  She 
haf  god  der  cheek  of  dwendy!" 

"Yes,  I  s'pose  I'm  a  bit  different  to  what  I  was  that 
Sunday!"  Sunny  looked  down  at  her  plain  but  neat 
dress,  her  neat  shoes.  "Remember  them  old  boots  I 
was  wearing  that  time?"  she  said.  "Law,  I  lost  one  of 
'em  on  the  stairs,  and  I  lost  it  twice  going  home.  I  never 
'ad  such  boots  for  wanting  to  go  off  on  their  own,  but  it 
was  this  way:  I  got  'em  cheap  off  a  barrer — men's  boots 
they  was — only  they  was  cheap  and  thick  and  kept  the 
water  out.  'Ello, "  she  added,  "who  are  you  laughing 
at?" 

"Ho,  ho,  ho!  You  make  me  sblit  my  sides!"  Mr. 
Rostheimer  said. 

"I  hope,"  Sunny  said,  "you've  begun  to  save  up  that 
hundred  pounds  you'll  owe  me  in  three  months'  time! 
Three  wasn't  it — or  was  it  six?" 

"Ho,  ho,  ho!  "he  laughed. 

"Oh,  shut  up!"  Sunny  said.  She  looked  round.  She 
saw  Lord  Dobrington  and  nodded. 

"How's  your  mother?"  she  asked. 

He  turned  a  little  red.  "Quite  well,  thanks ! "  he  said; 
while  some  of  the  others  laughed. 

"I  go  to  the  same  photographer's  to  be  took  as  she 
does  now!"  Sunny  said.  "Only  I  expect  she  pays  him, 
while  he  pays  me.  A  hundred  and  twenty  guineas  a 
year  I'm  getting  out  of  old  Hurlingham;  not  so  dusty, 
is  it?" 

"Hurlingham!"  Miss  Montressor  said.  "Surely  you 
have  not  a  contract  with  him,  Sunny?" 

"I  have!"  Sunny  said.  "Why,  ain't  he  good  for  the 
money?" 


Sunny  Breaks  Down  117 

Miss  Montressor  laughed. 

"  It  isn't  that;  he  is  good  enough  for  the  money;  but,  do 
you  know,  all  the  years  I  have  been  on  the  stage  I  have 
tried  to  get  him  to  photograph  me  and  he  has  never 
consented?" 

"Because  you  didn't  go  the  right  way  to  work  with 
him!"  Sunny  said.  "He  took  me  first  pop  off!  The 
Laughing  Gel,  he  called  me — not  so  dusty  either!  Bert, " 
she  went  on,  "wouldn't  come.  He  'adn't  got  no  dress 
clothes  for  one  thing !  I  told  'im  he  could  'ire  'em,  but 
he  wouldn't.  Poor  old  Bert!"  she  sighed.  "I  wish  he 
could  get  out  of  being  so  mis'rable!" 

It  was  a  tasteful  and  dainty  little  meal,  nothing  ostenta- 
tious. It  was  just  like  Miss  Leslie  Montressor  herself — 
quiet  and  distinguished,  everything  of  the  best  and  all 
with  a  charm  and  daintiness  that  one  could  not  hope  to 
find  in  a  restaurant,  no  matter  how  expensive  or  exclusive. 

" It's  lovely  coming  'ere,  isn't  it?"  Sunny  whispered  to 
Lord  Dobrington. 

"Very  lovely!"  he  said,  staring  her  straight  in  the 
face. 

"You  needn't  try  and  be  funny!"  she  said.  "If  you 
mean  me,  I'm  no  oil-painting,  and  I  know  it!" 

"Sunny,  if  you " 

"Miss  Ducrow,  if  you  don't  mind!"  she  said. 

"But  I  thought  we  were  friends?" 

"Well,  Sunny,  then,"  she  said.  "What's  your  first 
name?" 

"Stanley,"  he  said. 

' '  It  isn't  a  bad  name ;  I  don't  dislike  it !  What  do  they 
call  you  at  home — Stan?"  She  looked  at  him. 

"No,  I  wish  they  did — they  call  me  Dobrington  as 
a  rule.  My  mother  sometimes  calls  me  Stanley,  but 
usually  she  speaks  of  me  as  Dobrington." 

"Law  now!"  Sunny  said.     "And  she  your  mother. 


Sunny  Ducrow 

too!  If  I  was  your  mother  I'd  call  you  Stanley,  or 
Stanny  boy,  or  something  like  that!" 

"Supposing  you  do,"  he  said,  "without  being  my 
mother?  I'd  like  it  just  as  much!" 

"You  get  on  with  your  bun!"  Sunny  said. 

There  were  presents  for  Miss  Montressor  to-night — 
little  presents  to  mark  the  good-will  and  the  affection  in 
which  they  all  held  her.  Hemmingway  had  brought  a 
little  diamond  brooch,  Rostheimer  a  large  piece  of  silver, 
Dobrington  and  the  rest  some  trifles.  Dobrington's  gift 
was  a  silver-gilt  chain  bag.  Only  Sunny  seemed  to  have 
come  empty-handed,  but  she  had  not. 

"I  got  something — it  ain't  much — something  as  I 
worked  myself,"  she  said.  "I  thought  you  wouldn't 
mind."  She  paused.  She  went  out  and  returned  with 
a  brown  paper  parcel. 

"It  ain't  nothing,"  she  said — "not  like  what  the  rest 
has  given  you,  but  I'd  like  you  to  have  it.  I  thought  it 
might  be  cold  on  the  steamer  going  acrost!"  She  undid 
the  parcel  and  took  out  a  soft,  woolly  jacket.  "Just  to 
keep  the  cold  out  going  acrost!"  she  said.  "And  when 
you  git  to  the  other  side,  you  can  drop  it  into  the  sea  if 
you  like." 

"I  ajn  not  likely  to  do  that,  Sunny, "  Miss  Montressor 
said.  She  took  the  girl  suddenly  into  her  arms  and 
kissed  her.  "Thank  you,  dear — thank  you  again  and 
again.  I  love  your  present,  and  I  shall  keep  it  always 
in  memory  of  my  dear  little  friend!" 

The  tears  started  into  Sunny's  eyes. 

"If  I  had  a  hundred  million  pounds  I'd  give  it  all  to 
you,"  she  said.  "And  I  wouldn't  think  I'd  give  you  too 
much,  seeing  all  you've  done  for  me.  You  gave  me  my 
start  in  life.  You  took  me  by  the  hand  and  helped  me  out 
of  the  gutter.  One  day — one  day  you'll  know  how  grate- 
ful I  am.  I  don't  never  forget  and  shan't  never  forget 


and — and — "  She  sobbed  suddenly.  "God  bless 
you  and  keep  you  and  take  you  safe  there  and  bring 
you  safe  home  again  to  all  of  us  as  loves  you,  dear, 
dear " 

No  one  spoke.  There  was  a  long  silence  after  Sunny's 
little  speech.  Max  Hemmingway  took  out  his  hand- 
kerchief and  blew  his  nose  loudly. 

"Dat  girl,"  Rostheimer  said,  "she  makes  me  to  sblit 
my  sides  mit  laughter  every  time.  Ho,  ho!" 

It  was  over.  The  time  for  parting  had  come  now  and 
Sunny  broke  down.  She  cried;  the  tears  rolled  down 
her  face. 

"There  ain't  no  one  so  good  and  lovely  as  you  in  all 
the  world!"  she  said.  "You've  been  everything  to  me 
and — and  I  shan't  never  forget  you,  and  I'll  pray  for  you 
every  day  and — and  like  that — "  She  paused. 

Leslie  Montressor  held  the  girl  tightly  in  her  arms. 

" Good-bye,  little  Sunny,  and  good  luck  to  you!  Your 
success  will  bring  me  a  great  deal  of  pleasure.  Write  to 
me  sometimes  and  I  will  write  to  you.  I  shall  be  proud 
of  my  little  girl." 

Outside  in  the  street  Sunny  dashed  the  tears  from 
her  eyes. 

"She's  the  best  and  sweetest  woman  as  ever  walked!" 
she  said  aloud. 

"Bar  one!" 

" Oh ! "  Sunny  looked  up.     "How  did  you  blow  out ? " 

"  I'm  going  to  see  you  home,  Sunny, "  Lord  Dobrington 
said. 

"You  ain't!"  she  said  briefly. 

"That's  where  you  are  wrong;  I  am,"  he  said.  "I 
am  going  to  see  you  home,  Sunny." 

"You're  going  to  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  Stanley," 
she  said. 

He  laughed. 


120  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  I'm  going  to  walk." 

"So  am  I." 

"What  about  your  motor-car?" 

"Hang  the  car!"  he  said.  "I'm  walking  with  you,  if 
you  prefer  walking." 

"You'll  have  to  step  it  out,  then!"  she  said. 

"I'm  willing.    Will  you  take  my  arm? " 

"What  for?  I  ain't  eighty  yet;  I  can  walk  alone 
without  help." 

He  looked  down  at  her. 

"  You  are  a  very  impudent  little  woman! "  he  said. 

"And  if  I  weren't,  where'd  I  be  now?  Trying  for  a 
job  somewhere,"  she  said. 

" Sunny,  won't  you  take  my  arm?     I'd  like  you  to! " 

"What  for?  "she  said. 

"Nothing,  only " 

"  We'll  get  on  all  right  walking  like  this,  only  it's  a  long 
way,  and  you'll  be  sick  of  it  before  you  get  there." 

"I  don't  fancy  I  shall.  The  way  can't  be  too  long  for 
me,"  he  said. 

"Like  walking,  then?" 

"No;  but  I  like  you!"  he  said. 

Sunny  laughed. 

"So  do  others,  perhaps,"  she  said.  "There's  Bert. 
Where  would  Bert  be  without  me?" 

"Hang  Bert!"  he  said.  "Sunny"— he  paused— 
"Sunny,  you  are  the  most  wonderful  girl  in  the 
world!" 

"Am  I?"  she  said.     "I  don't  think!" 

"But  I  do,  Sunny!"     He  paused  again. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?  Got  a  pain  in  your 
indigestion?"  she  asked. 

"No,"  he  said  slowly.  "I  have  a  pain  somewhere 
else.  In  my  heart,  I  think!" 


Sunny  Breaks  Down  121 

"It's  because  you  don't  get  enough  exercise,"  Sunny 
said. 

"Sunny " 

"Oh,  for  goodness'  sake  get  on  with  it!"  she  said. 
"What's  the  use  of  keeping  on  Sunnying?  That's  my 
name." 

"Sunny,  do  you  think  you  could  like  me?"  he  asked. 

She  turned  and  stared  at  him. 

"  I  don't  see  nothing  perticular  about  you  to  dislike, " 
she  said.  "Why?" 

"Nothing.  Only  one  day  I  may  tell  you — I  may  tell 
you—  He  paused.  Then  he  laughed.  He  seemed 
to  shake  himself — shake  his  thoughts  off  him  as  a  dog 
shakes  the  water  from  his  coat  when  he  leaps  from  the 
water  to  the  land. 

"Lots  and  lots  of  things  is  going  to  happen  one  day," 
Sunny  said  thoughtfully.  "One  thing  is,  I'm  going  to 
play  Hamlick,  or  Mrs.  Hamlick — I  mean  Ophelia,  that 
is.  I'm  going  to  earn  a  hundred  pounds  a  week.  And 
another  thing  is" — she  paused  thoughtfully — "one  day 
me  and  Bert'll  get  married,  I  suppose!" 


CHAPTER  XV 

AN  OFFER  OF  MARRIAGE 

OING  to  marry  Bert ! "  Dobrington  said.  "  Sunny, 
what  do  you  mean?" 

"Jus'  that!"  she  said.  "Me  and  Bert  fixed  it  up  one 
day.  It  isn't  going  to  be  yet — not  for  twenty  years  or 
thereabouts — only  it  'as  got  to  be.  See?" 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  he  cried — "do  you  mean  to 
say  you  are  in  love  with  him?" 

"  Me  in  love  with  Bert ! " 

She  burst  into  a  merry  peal  of  laughter. 

"You're  not!  Of  course  you're  not!"  he  said.  "Then, 
what  on  earth  do  you  mean  by  saying  you  are  going  to 
marry  him?  Is  he  in  love  with  you,  then?" 

"Bert!  Bert  isn't  in  love  with  no  one!"  she  said. 
"  It  isn't  a  question  of  love.  I  ain't  never  worried  about 
love.  I  had" — she  paused — "the  measles  once  when  I 
was  a  kiddie,  and  I  had  the  diptheria  once  and  went  to 
the  isolation  'orspital,  I  did,  and  done  well."  She  paused. 
"I've  caught  most  things  in  one  way  and  another,  but 
I  ain't  caught  love,  and  don't  mean  to.  I've  got  no 
time  for  falling  in  love.  It's  like  this.  Bert — you  know 
'ow  helpless  he  is — he  couldn't  never  get  on  nohow  if  he 
was  left  alone — if  there  wasn't  me  to  look  after  him. 
Could  he?" 

"He  is  certainly  not  a  genius,"  Dobrington  said. 
"Not  very  bright,  I  should  say." 

"Bert's  a  perfect  ijut!"  she  said  briefly.     "He's  got 

122 


An  Offer  of  Marriage          123 

to  have  someone  to  look  after  him.  That's  why  I've 
got  to  marry  him  one  of  these  days,  only  there  Lm't  no 
hurry.  Me  and  him  have  fixed  it  up  to  get  married 
when  we  are  forty." 

"I  see,"  he  said  slowly — "I  see." 

"Oh,  thank  goodness  for  that,  then!"  Sunny  said. 
"Now"— she  paused  and  turned  to  him — "you  didn't 
better  come  farther." 

She  held  out  her  hand. 

"I'll  see  you  home." 

He  had  his  way.  He  saw  her  to  the  door.  There  he 
shook  hands  with  her.  He  held  her  very  small,  child- 
like hand  for  a  few  moments  longer,  perhaps,  than  was 
absolutely  necessary. 

"Good-night,  and  thanks  for  coming." 

' '  Good-night,  Sunny ;  and — and  I  think —  "  he  paused — 
"I  think  you  will  find  out  you  were  wrong." 

"Wrong  about  what?"  she  asked. 

"About  being  proof  against  love.  I  fancy  it'll  come 
to  you  one  day,  little  girl,  and  when  it  does,  yours  will 
be  a  love  worth  having.  When  you  learn  to  love  it  will 
not  be  with  any  ordinary  love — it  will  be  heart  and  soul. 
It  will  be  a  great  and  wonderful  love,  yours,  Sunny,  and 
he  who  wins  it  will  be  a  happy  and  fortunate  man! 
Good-night,  little  Sunny!" 

He  wrung  her  hand  and  turned  away. 

Sunny  stared  after  him. 

' '  What  'she  mean  by  that  ?"  she  asked  herself.  "He's 
gone  off  his  onion!" 

And  then  she  went  indoors. 

The  new  revue  was  a  gorgeous  production.  Max 
Hemmingway  had  spent  money  like  water.  He  had 
laid  himself  out  to  offer  his  best  to  the  public,  but  one 
thing  was  lacking.  The  popular  favorite,  Miss  Leslie 
Montressor,  was  away  playing  to  crowded  houses  on  the 


124  Sunny  Ducrow 

other  side  of  the  Atlantic.  Miss  Montressor  was  a  big 
loss.  There  was  no  one  else  in  London  quite  up  to  her 
standard.  She  was  a  personality.  She  alone  had  the 
power  to  draw,  and  Hemmingway  knew  it.  Grace 
Blythedale  was  young  and  even  prettier  than  Leslie 
Montressor.  She  was  very  charming  and  very  graceful, 
but  she  was  not  Leslie  Montressor. 

"Of  course  they'll  miss  her,"  Hemmingway  said. 
"They  are  bound  to.  Even  the  British  public  has  a 
grain  of  loyalty  in  its  composition.  They'll  miss  Leslie 
Montressor.  I'm  nervous  about  the  Blythedale  girl; 
she's  stiff.  She  don't  let  herself  go  like  Leslie  did.  I 
hope  it's  going  to  be  all  right!" 

"Considering  der  money  we  haf  spent,"  Rostheimer 
said,  "it  ought  to  be  all  ride,  didn't  id?" 

"It  ought  to  be,  but  what  ought  to  be  very  often  isn't," 
Hemmingway  said.  "I  just  hope  it's  going  to  be  all 
right." 

As  the  first  night  drew  nearer,  Hemmingway  grew 
more  and  more  anxious  and  inclined  to  be  despondent. 

"I  dell  you,"  Rostheimer  said,  "dat  song  dat  feller — 
vat's  his  name? — sings  aboud  der  roses  is  a  scream,  yes ! " 

"Oh,  hang  him!"  Hemmingway  said.  "Yes,  it  isn't 
so  bad.  It'll  go,  I  dare  say.  But  I'm  worried.  I 
think  I've  made  a  mistake,  Rostheimer,  about  that 
Blythedale  girl.  She's  nice  and  pretty  and  young,  of 
course;  but  that  isn't  everything.  She's  stiff.  I  can't 
get  her  to  jump  about.  She's  stiff.  The  public  hate 
anything  that's  stiff.  She  don't  fling  herself  into  the 
part.  Come  and  see!" 

The  two  went  into  the  wings,  where  on  the  stage  a 
dress  rehearsal  was  in  progress. 

Hemmingway  was  right;  Miss  Blythedale,  for  all  her 
youthful  charms,  was  distinctly  stiff  in  the  love-making 
scene  in  the  cornfields.  She  did  not  let  herself  go.  She 


An  Offer  of  Marriage          125 

did  not  in  the  least  look  like  a  country  maiden  in  her 
print  dress  and  her  sun-bonnet.  She  looked  like  a  smart 
London  young  lady  dressed  up  in  clothes  that  did  not 
belong  to  her. 

"She's  just  awful!"  Hemmingway  groaned.  "Look 
at  her,  mincing  and  prancing  about.  Picture  Leslie  in 
such  a  part;  she  would  have  been  'it'!" 

"For  goodness'  sake,  Miss  Blythedale,"  he  said,  "do 
— do  let  yourself  go!  Get  off  your  high  horse.  Here, 
do  it  like  this!" 

He  pushed  her  aside.  He  took  her  place  on  the  hay- 
cart. 

"You've  got  to  be  coy  and  roguish — full  of  fun.  See?" 
he  shouted.  "You've  got  to  laugh  and  dimple  and  grin 
— grin  like  the  doose!  This  hay-cart  isn't  a  'bus — it's 
a  hay-cart.  It's  stuck  out  here  in  the  country;  it  isn't 
Piccadilly.  Now,  then,  have  another  try." 

Miss  Blythedale  was  in  tears.  It  was  hopeless — more 
hopeless  than  before. 

"That  girl  is  going  to  ruin  the  whole  thing,"  Hem- 
mingway groaned.  "I  was  mad  to  choose  her.  I 
thought  she  could  do  it.  I  made  a  mistake.  She's 
only  fit  for  a  walking-on  part.  She's  great  as  Lady 
Marigold  Mangold  Wurzel,  the  Society  young  lady,  with 
four  lines  to  speak,  but  she's  a  helpless  fraud  at  this. 
She  can't  do  it!" 

He  tramped  up  and  down  the  wings,  and  wrenched 
his  cuff-links  off  in  the  agitation  of  his  mind. 

"I  dell  you,  old  feller,  der  mistake  we  make,  yes," 
said  Rostheimer.  "We  oughd  to  have  put  dat  little 
Sunny  girl  into  dis  bart." 

"I  believe  you  are  right.  She  knows  how  to  be 
natural,"  Hemmingway  said.  "But  it's  too  late  now." 

"She's  a  quick  study,  ain't  she?"  Rostheimer  said. 

"Yes,  but,  hang  it,  two  days,  man  alive!    Are  you 


Sunny  Ducrow 

mad?  No;  it's  going  to  go  through.  We've  got  to  trust 
to  luck.  There's  the  scenery  and  the  dresses;  and,  of 
course,  Daglan  is  up  to  standard  and  a  bit  beyond. 
We've  just  got  to  risk  the  Blythedale  girl ! ' ' 

Hemmingway's  interference  at  rehearsal  had  done 
considerably  more  harm  than  good.  Before  that  Miss 
Blythedale  had  been  merely  stiff  and  formal;  now  she 
was  nervous  as  well,  and  the  combination  had  a  terrible 
effect  on  her  part  of  Marian  Dobbins,  the  country  maiden. 
Leslie  Montressor,  as  Hemmingway  had  said,  would 
have  thrown  herself  heart  and  soul  into  the  part.  She 
would  have  ceased  to  exist  in  her  own  personality.  She 
would  have  become  a  country  girl  with  a  rich  Somerset 
accent,  and  the  audience  would  have  gone  mad  about 
her.  Grace  Blythedale  was  not  only  spoiling  her  part, 
but  she  promised  to  spoil  the  show. 

Hemmingway  held  his  head  in  his  hands  and  groaned 
in  bitterness  of  spirit.  He  saw  failure  before  him,  and 
failure  meant  the  loss  of  many  thousands  of  pounds, 
apart  from  the  blow  to  his  name  as  a  successful  producer 
of  high-class  revue. 

"I've  been  an  ass!"  he  said.  "I  can't  imagine  now 
what  I  was  thinking  about.  I  ought  to  have  bagged 
Molly  Deschamps  or  Lucy  Lane  for  the  part.  Either 
of  them  would  have  done  it  all  right;  now  I've  got  that 
stick!" 

"Or  der  liddle  Sunny  girl,"  Rostheimer  said. 

"Hang  her!  She's  got  no  experience;  she's  only  a 
beginner,"  Hemmingway  said.  "  I  couldn't  have  trusted 
her.  She's  all  right  in  the  little  part  she's  got,  but  the 
whole  thing  hangs  on  Marian  Dobbins.  One  could 
cut  out  the  part  of  Lady  Maud  altogether  and  no  one 
would  be  the  wiser." 

It  was  true  enough;  Sunny 's  part  had  very  little 
bearing  on  the  plot,  such  as  it  was.  It  was  a  small  part, 


An  Offer  of  Marriage  127 

but  she  made  the  most  of  it.  She  looked  very  small  and 
very  pretty  and  delicate  and  graceful  as  the  runaway 
schoolgirl.  She  spoke  very  nicely;  her  accent  was  per- 
fect, her  modulation  wonderful,  considering  the  pickle 
factory  in  the  near  past.  She  had  adapted  herself 
wonderfully,  just  as  Leslie  Montressor  could  have  done 
in  her  place;  but  the  truth  was  her  part  did  not  matter 
much  one  way  or  another.  It  could  not  make  or  mar 
the  play,  and  Grace  Blythedale  could  and  did. 

"Bert!"  Sunny  said.  "Bert,  I  got  an  idea  at  the 
back  of  my  head  that  this  revue's  going  to  be  a  frost!" 

"Shouldn't  wonder!"  Bert  said  bitterly.  "Making 
me  sing  that  blooming  song  about  roses!  What  do 
they  expect?" 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  you,"  Sunny  said;  "  it's  Grace  Blythedale. 
She's  no  good.  She's  nice  and  pretty  and  sweet,  and 
I'm  sorry  for  her.  I  cried  like  anything,  Bert,  when 
Hemmingway  went  for  her  yesterday.  But,  all  the  same, 
he's  right ;  she's  going  to  bring  us  all  down  bang ;  you  see ! " 

"  I  wish  to  goodness,"  Bert  said  slowly  and  impressively 
— "  Sunny,  I  wish  to  goodness  I  was  back  in  the  pickles." 

Sunny  took  no  notice.  She  never  did  when  Bert 
bewailed  his  present  lot  and  sighed  for  the  smell  of  the 
vinegar. 

"  It'll  be  an  awful  pity,  won't  it  ? "  she  said.  "A  terrible 
pity!  S'posing  the  show  cracks  up,  Bert,  what  then?" 

"I'll  go  and  see  Bill  Wilkins  and  see  if  I  can  get  took 
on  again!"  Bert  said,  with  a  look  of  hope  in  his  eyes. 

"You  won't!"  she  said — "me  neither!  We're  like 
the  chap  as  crossed  the  river,  Bert,  and  burned  his 
bridges  behind  him;  see!" 

"He  was  a  fool  to  do  that,  anyway!  Any'ow,  there's 
generally  a  job  to  be  got,"  Bert  said. 

Sunny  shared  Max  Hemmingway's  anticipation  of 
failure  to  the  full.  She  said  nothing  to  anyone  but 


% 

128  Sunny  Ducrow 

Bert,  but  she  knew,  even  of  her  inexperience  she  knew, 
that  Grace  Blythedale  was  going  to  make  a  hash  of  the 
part  on  which  the  whole  thing  hung. 

"It's  a  pity!"  she  said.  "I  know  jolly  well  I  could 
play  that  part.  It's  as  easy  as  falling  off  a  gate!  I 
wasn't  never  a  country  girl,  but  if  I  couldn't  make 
myself  one,  I'd  eat  my  hat!" 

For  days  and  days  past  Sunny  had  grown  to  notice 
that  old  Rostheimer  and  she  were  constantly  meeting. 
No  matter  what  time  she  left,  she  was  almost  sure  to 
run  up  against  Rostheimer. 

Twice  he  had  asked  her  to  go  to  lunch  with  him,  and 
she  had  refused  sharply.  He  had  asked  her  to  tea,  and 
had  obtained  another  refusal. 

"Don't  you  like  me,  Sunny?"  he  asked. 

"I  ain't  crazy  about  you  one  way  or  the  other,  she 
said.  "Only  I  pay  for  my  own  lunches  and  teas  and 
suppers,  I  do,  that's  all." 

To-day  was  the  day  of  the  last  rehearsal.  They 
opened  the  next  day,  and  Hemmingway  was  in  a  state 
of  nervous  collapse.  He  dared  not  witness  the  rehearsal. 
Jakes  had  been  to  him,  and  had  given  him  his  private 
opinion  that  Grace  Blythedale  was  a  stick,  and  was  going 
to  ruin  the  whole  show. 

"Just  as  if  I  didn't  know  it!"  Hemmingway  shouted, 
giving  way  to  a  burst  of  bad  language.  "I've  been  a 
fool,  a  mad  fool,  a  blind,  helpless  imbecile!  Hang  the 
girl  and  hang  me — hang  me  most!  It's  my  fault;  a 
blind,  helpless  imbecile!  I've  been  trying  to  make  a 
silk  purse  out  of  a  sow's  ear.  And  it  can't  be  done." 

"However,  let's  hope  it'll  be  all  right,"  Jakes  said. 
"Now,  if  we'd  tried  that  Ducrow  girl  in  the  part " 

"What!  A  beginner,  a  novice,  a  girl  with  less  than 
three  months ' ' 

"She's  got  it  in  her;  she's  an  actress  to  her  finger-tips! 


An  Offer  of  Marriage          129 

She  swears  one  day  she'll  play  Hamlet,  and  I  believe  she 
will,"  Jakes  said.  "Now,  if  we'd  tried  that  Ducrow  girl 
in  the  part  all  would  have  been  well;  she's  versatile, 
and  Blythedale  isn't." 

"Why,"  Hemmingway  said,  "didn't  you  tell  me  this 
three  weeks  ago?" 

"Never  thought  of  it,"  Jakes  said. 

"It's  too  late  now,"  Hemmingway  said.  "We  open 
with  Blythedale  to-morrow,  and  it's  going  to  be  a  fizzle." 

"For  goodness'  sake  don't  come  to  rehearsal  to-day!" 
Jakes  said.  "Don't  let  her  see  you  to-morrow.  You 
put  the  fear  of  death  in  her.  She's  ten  times  worse 
when  you're  about." 

"I  know,"  Hemmingway  said. 

Rehearsal  was  for  four  o'clock  that  afternoon.  Sunny 
was  perfect  in  her  part.  It  was  a  small  part,  and  she 
was  vaguely  disappointed  and  dissatisfied  with  it.  The 
more  she  thought  of  the  part  that  Grace  Blythedale 
was  making  such  a  sorry  mess  of,  the  more  convinced 
she  was  that  she  could  play  it. 

"It  might  have  been  written  for  me,"  she  whispered 
to  Bert.  "I'd  love  it!  Look  at  her  in  the  hay-cart 
scene !  She  might  be  first  mourner  at  a  funeral,  mightn't 
she?" 

Bert  nodded  gloomily. 

"At  the  pickle  factory  one  didn't  have  to  bother  about 
how  the  others  done  their  work,"  he  said  mournfully. 
"I  wish  to  goodness  I  was " 

"Note  for  Miss  Ducrow,"  said  the  call-boy. 

"Me?"  Sunny  said.    She  took  it  and  opened  it. 

"DEAR  Miss  DUCROW, — I  would  be  glad  if  you  could 
spare  me  a  few  moments  in  my  private  room  before  you 
leave — to-day.  I  wish  to  speak  to  you.  Yours  sincerely, 

"FELIX    ROSTHEIMER." 


130  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Oh,  him!"  Sunny  said.  "What's  he  want  now? 
I  told  him  I  wouldn't  go  to  no  lunches  nor  teas  nor 
suppers;  he's  a  blooming  old  nuisance!" 

She  almost  forgot,  but  remembered  just  in  time  as 
she  and  Bert  were  about  to  leave  the  theatre. 

"You'll  'ave  to  go  alone,  Bert,"  she  said.  "Old 
Rostheimer  wants  me  to  go  and  see  him,  though  good- 
ness knows  what  about." 

Mr.  Rostheimer  was  a  great  man  here.  He  was  a  rich 
man,  fabulously  wealthy,  and  it  was  well  known  that 
he  was  behind  Hemmingway  in  financial  matters.  It 
was  Rostheimer's  money  that  provided  the  gorgeous 
spectacles  that  drew  the  public  in  crowds  to  the  theatre. 
Rostheimer  had  his  own  private  room,  and  a  very  lux- 
urious one.  There  was  a  thick  Turkey  carpet  on  the 
floor,  several  valuable  paintings  on  the  wall,  and  a  host 
of  photographs  signed  by  celebrities. 

In  a  leather  arm-chair  Sunny  found  the  financier 
smoking  a  large  cigar. 

"Come  in,  my  dear,  and  shut  der  door!"  he  said. 

Sunny  went  in. 

"You  sent  for  me,"  she  said. 

Rostheimer  did  not  answer;  he  sat  there  and  stared 
at  her  hard  through  the  coil  of  his  cigar  smoke. 

"Ach!"  he  said. 

"Well,  get  on  with  it!"  Sunny  said  impatiently. 

"Somedimes,"  he  said,  "somedimes  I  dink  you  don'd 
quite  make  out  who  I  am." 

"Me?" 

"You  don'd  realize  dat  I  am  der  boss  here!"  he  said. 
"Der  boss,  I  am  der  master.  See?  I  am  your  master, 
everybody's  master,  Hemmingway 's  master!" 

He  spread  out  his  large,  fat  hands. 

"You  mean  that  you  find  the  money?"  Sunny  said. 

"Dat's  id.     I  find  der  money!" 


An  Offer  of  Marriage          131 

"And  get  it  back  with  interest,  or  you  wouldn't  find 
it!"  Sunny  said. 

"Dat's  so,"  he  said.  "Somedimes,"  he  said,  "nod 
always!  Dis  time  it  looks  like  dat  I  am  going  to  make 
a  good  loss,  yes!" 

He  stared  at  her  hard. 

"Sunny,  you  vas  a  very  bretty  little  girl.  One  day 
you  make  a  big  name — mit  help!"  he  added.  "Mit 
help,  yes!" 

"With  help  or  without  it!"  she  said.     "Well?" 

He  rose,  and  put  his  fat  hand  on  her  arm. 

"Sunny,  I  fall  in  lofe  mit  you!"  he  said  briefly. 

She  stared  at  him. 

"  Look  here,  for  goodness'  sake,  if  you've  got  anything 
to  say,  say  it!" 

"Dat  is  vy  I  haf  send  for  you!"  he  said.  "I  haf 
fallen  in  love  mit  you!" 

"You'll  get  over  it!"  Sunny  said. 

"No."  He  shook  his  head.  "I  don'd  ged  over  it, 
Sunny.  I  haf  someting  to  ask  you." 

"Then  for  goodness'  sake  ask  it!"  she  said.  "What 
is  it?" 

"Could  you  lofe  me?" 

" Love  you ! "  Sunny  said.  "Love  you !  Well,  I  didn't 
never  have  a  grandfather.  If  I  had,  I  s'pose  he'd  be 
somewhere  about  as  old  as  you,  so  I " 

"Sunny,  how  vould  you  like  me  for  a  husband?"  he 
said.  "No,  you  vaid  a  bid,"  he  added  quickly.  "I  am 
a  rich  man,  a  very  rich  man,  Sunny,  and  I  can  gif  you 
furs  and  diamonds  and  a  fine  motor-car.  I  can  make 
you  a  lady!" 

"Pity  he  didn't  start  making  himself  a  gentleman!" 
Sunny  thought;  but  she  said  nothing. 

"I  can  gif  you  a  gread  deal,"  he  said.  "I  am  a  very 
rich  man — richer  dan  der  oder  people  tink.  Yes,  dia- 


i32  Sunny  Ducrow 

monds  and  furs  and  motor-cars  and  fine  dresses.  You 
will  have  everyone  envying  you,  Sunny.  Den,  mit  my 
money  and  my  influence,  I  shall  pud  you  ride  on  de  dop; 
you  shall  go  bang  to  der  dop,  I  promise  you.  You  haf 
only  to  say  id,  and  I  stop  der  production  of  dis  play  to- 
morrow. I  stop  it.  I,  Rostheimer,  can  and  will  stop 
it.  I  shall  pay  der  Blythedale  out.  Her  part  shall  be 
yours.  Der  broduction  shall  be  but  back  for  three  weeks. 
You  will  be  der  leading  lady ! " 

"Will  I?"  Sunny  said. 

"Yes."  He  came  a  step  closer;  he  pawed  at  her  with 
his  fat  hand.  "  Sunny,  you  shall  haf  it  all  your  own  way. 
You  haf  only  to  say  one  ding!" 

"What's  that?" 

"Felix,  I  will  be  your  wife!" 

"Well,  I  ain't  going  to  say  that,  not  in  a  thousand 
years,"  Sunny  said. 

"You  dink  it  over,"  he  said.  "You'd  bedder.  As 
yet  I  only  show  you  der  one  side  of  der  picture.  Shall 
I  show  you  der  oder?" 

"Oh,  let's  see  it  every  way!"  Sunny  said. 

"Very  goot!"  he  said.  "It's  dis  way.  You  say 
'No,'  you  lose  your  blace  here;  you  find  it  difficult  to 
get  anoder.  My  name  goes — everyone  knows  Rostheimer. 
I  have  my  finger  in  many  bies.  You  will  be  sorry,  very 
sorry.  Presently  you  come  and  say,  'Felix,  I  am  sorry! 
Felix,  forgive  me!'  It  too  late  den!" 

"Let's  have  it  straight,"  Sunny  said.  "You  ask  me 
to  marry  you?" 

"Yes." 

"And  I  say  'No,'  "  she  said.  "Well,  how  do  we 
go  on?" 

"It  ain't  go  on,  it  goes  off!"  he  said  "You  go  off — 
poof;  you  are  done.  I  say  to  Hemmingway  dat  girl 
goes,  you  go.  Hemmingway  does  as  I  tell  him.  You 


An  Offer  of  Marriage  133 

go  to  the  other  managers  and  say, '  I  am  Sunny  Ducrow. ' 
'  No  shop ! '  he  says .  Already  he  has  heard  from  me ;  there 
is  to  be  no  shop  for  Sunny  Ducrow.  Now  you  ged  me  ? ' ' 

"I  see  your  game  all  right.  You're  going  to  boycott 
me  if  I  don't  marry  you?" 

"Dat's  so!"  he  said. 

"Well,  I  ain't  going  to  marry  you,  all  the  same — not 
if  you  was  hung  with  di'monds  and  precious  stones. 
Besides,  I'm  engaged!"  she  said. 

"Engaged!" 

"To  Bert  Jackson.  I'm  going  to  marry  him  when 
I'm  forty.  Not  as  marrying  you'd  prevent  that;  you'd 
be  dead  long  before.  But,  anyway,  I'm  not  going  to 
marry  you  now,  nor  never!"  Sunny  said.  "You  get 
me?"  she  asked,  mimicking  him  to  his  face. 

Slowly  a  look  of  rage  came  into  Rostheimer's  face. 

"  All  ride;  you'll  be  sorry,"  he  said.  "  I  gif  you  anoder 
chance.  Say  'Yes'  now.  You  gif  me  a  kiss  and  say 
'  Yes, '  I  stop  der  broduction  of  dis  revue  for  dree  weeks. 
You  take  der  lead!" 

"Not  me!"  Sunny  said. 

He  stood  glowering  at  her,  then  suddenly  he  made 
an  elephantine-like  spring.  He  tried  to  clasp  her  in  his 
arms,  but  Sunny  ducked,  she  dodged.  Mr.  Rostheimer 
brought  up  against  the  wall,  and  Sunny  laughed. 

"All  ride,  all  ride!"  he  gasped.  "All  ride!  You 
laugh  on  de  oder  side  your  mouth  presently.  You 
vaid,  vaid,  vaid!  You  laugh!  Ve'll  see!" 

He  was  mad  and  furious;  he  looked  evil.  His  small, 
pig-like  eyes  were  blazing  with  an  unholy  light.  He 
tried  to  get  between  Sunny  and  the  door,  but  she  was 
alive  to  his  plans.  With  a  quick  jump  she  gained  the 
door,  wrenched  it  open,  and  was  gone. 

"I  mage  you  sorry!"  he  bellowed.  "I  mage  you 
sick  mit  being  sorry!  See?" 


i34  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Marry  him!"  Sunny  thought.  "Me  marry  him! 
Marry  anyone  at  all!  But  marry  him!"  She  laughed. 
"Anyhow  it  looks  like  me  being  up  against  trouble." 
She  sighed.  "Anyhow,  I  couldn't  hope  I  was  going  to 
get  it  all  my  own  way.  I  s'pose  the  next  thing'll  be 
the  sack!" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SUNNY   IS   DISCHARGED 

HEMMINGWAY'S  prognostications  were  only  too 
thoroughly  fulfilled.  Grace  Blythedale  in  the 
part  of  Marian  Dobbins  was  an  utter  and  absolute  frost. 
The  huge  audience  fidgeted  on  its  seats;  there  was  a 
chilly  atmosphere  in  the  house.  Now  and  again  it  rose 
to  Harvey  Daglan's  effort.  Now  and  again  it  applauded 
Sunny  in  her  small  part.  But  Sunny 's  part  was  all  too 
small  to  have  much  effect  on  the  chill  frost  that  had 
settled  over  everything.  Only  once  did  the  audience 
give  itself  up  to  thorough  and  intense  enjoyment.  That 
was  when  Bert  Jackson,  looking  the  picture  of  abject 
wretchedness  and  trembling  with  nervousness,  came 
down  to  the  footlights  and  sang  his  song  about  the  roses. 

From  the  moment  he  stood  on  the  stage  alone  the 
audience  yelled  with  laughter  at  him;  they  shook  their 
sides.  Stout  old  ladies  and  gentlemen  laughed  till  the 
tears  rolled  down  their  cheeks.  The  more  they  laughed 
the  more  wretchedly  nervous  did  Bert  become.  He  for- 
got his  words;  he  appealed  to  the  conductor. 

The  leading  London  newspapers  gave  Bert  a  quarter 
of  a  column  all  to  himself;  the  rest  of  the  production 
they  dismissed  in  rather  less  space. 

"Miss  Grace  Blythedale,  a  charming  young  actress, 
was  ill-fitted  with  the  part  of  Marian  Dobbins,"  the 
critics  reported.  "We  sadly  missed  Miss  Montressor 
in  the  part.  Miss  Blythedale  worked  earnestly  and  did 

135 


136  Sunny  Ducrow 

her  best,  but  she  has  been  wrongly  cast.  She  has  a 
pretty  voice,  and  did  her  best  with  the  songs  that  fell 
to  her  share.  In  the  part  of  the  errant  schoolgirl,  Lady 
Maud,  Miss  Sunny  Ducrow  was  seen  to  advantage. 
She  was  graceful  and  dainty,  and  sang  her  songs  with 
infinite  charm.  The  audience  regretted  that  her  part 
was  not  a  bigger  one.  Mr.  Harvey  Daglan  made  a 
robust  and  handsome  hero;  he  was  in  good  voice,"  etc. 

And  that  was  all  there  was  to  it.  It  was  a  fizzle,  a 
frost!  Thousands  had  been  spent  and  would  never, 
never  come  back. 

Max  Hemmingway  would  have  at  least  one  failure 
to  his  credit.  Perhaps  he  could  afford  it,  seeing  how 
many  successes  he  had  made  in  the  past.  Yet  it  was 
none  the  less  bitter  for  that.  The  second  night  the 
house  was  half  empty,  the  third  night  it  was  worse  still; 
the  stalls  were  thinly  populated.  They  were  playing 
to  a  dead  loss.  The  week  slowly  passed;  every  night 
showed  a  poorer  and  still  poorer  return.  Only  on  Satur- 
day night  things  looked  a  little  brighter.  When  the 
Monday  of  the  following  week  came,  receipts  fell  to 
zero.  There  were  scarcely  a  dozen  people  in  the  stalls, 
the  pit  was  half  empty,  the  gallery  nearly  deserted. 
There  was  not  one  person  in  the  private  boxes,  and  the 
dress  circle  was  filled  with  paper. 

"Und  bang  goes  fif deen  tousand ! "  said  Rostheimer. 

"Looks  like  it.  There's  only  one  thing  to  do:  close 
up  the  shutters,"  Hemmingway  said.  "Cut  our  losses, 
pull  down  the  curtain,  and  stop  the  whole  thing.  We've 
got  the  new  thing,  Are  You  There?  to  fall  back  on.  We 
can  rush  it  through  and  get  it  inside  three  weeks.  Well  ? " 

"Fire  ahead!"  Rostheimer  said.     "You  know  best!" 

£hey  were  in  Hemmingway 's  office. 

"I'm  going  to  risk  it!"  Hemmingway  said. 

"Risk  what?" 


Sunny  is  Discharged  137 

"That  Ducrow  girl.  I  believe  she  can  do  it.  I'm 
going  to  give  her  the  part  of  Betty  Barker  in  Are  You 
There?" 

"Soh!"  Rostheimer  muttered.  "Soh!  She  is  very 
young  and  very  inexberienced." 

"  She'll  do  it.     I've  got  faith  in  that  girl." 

"I  haven't,"  said  Rostheimer.  "It's  all  cheek;  id's 
not  dalent.  Anyhow  send  for  her." 

Hemmingway  rang  his  bell. 

"Tell  Miss  Ducrow  to  come  here  right  away,"  he  said. 

Five  minutes  later  Sunny  tapped  at  the  door  and 
came  in. 

"Miss  Ducrow,"  Hemmingway  said,  "I'm  going  to 
let  you  into  a  secret.  We  shall  be  taking  this  thing  off 
immediately." 

"I  thought  you  would,"  said  Sunny.  "It's  gone 
flat." 

"Anyhow  it's  coming  off.  We're  going  to  put  a  new 
thing,  I  have  here,  into  rehearsal  at  once.  It's  called 
Are  You  There?  The  leading  lady's  part  is  a  soft  one. 
She's  a  telephone  operator,  who  happens  on  a  secret 
concerning  an  aristocratic  family.  She  decides  to  make 
the  most  of  it,  and  forces  herself  into  Society.  I  needn't 
go  into  the  whole  thing  now.  What  I  want  to  know 
is — "  He  paused;  he  looked  at  Sunny;  her  eyes 
were  sparkling.  She  knew  what  was  coming.  Rost- 
heimer, sitting  in  the  shadows  beside  the  window,  she 
had  not  seen.  ' '  I  want  to  know  if  you  will  take  the  script 
and  look  through  it,  and  let  me  know  to-morrow  if  you 
think  you  are  up  to  the  part.  It's  your  chance — the 
big  chance  for  you.  If  you  let  me  down,  you  let  your- 
self down.  I  don't  know  that  I'm  not  rather  a  fool  to 
risk  it.  I  could  get  Molly  Deschamps;  she's  a  practised 
and  experienced  actress.  That  part  would  be  safe  with 
her;  but  I  rather  fancy  you  could  do  it!" 


138  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Vaid  a  bid!"  Rostheimer  said. 

Sunny  started. 

"Vaid  a  bid,  Max!"      He  rose  and  came  forward. 

"  I've  lost  preddy  heavily  on  dis  ting,"  he  said.  "  I've 
lost  tousands.  I'm  not  going  to  run  der  risk  of  losing 
more  on  der  next  broduction!"  He  paused;  he  stared 
at  Sunny.  "I'm  sorry  for  Miss  Ducrow's  disabboint- 
ment,"  he  said;  "but  I  can't  see  her  in  dis  part.  She 
can't  do  id.  She  hasn't  enough  exberience.  I  want 
dat  part  to  go  to  Miss  Deschamps.  I'm  sorry,  of  course ! " 
There  was  a  baleful  look  in  his  eyes  as  they  rested  on 
Sunny's  face. 

"This  is  where  you  get  your  own  back,"  she  said 
quietly. 

Hemmingway  looked  from  one  to  the  other. 

"I  don't  quite  understand!"  he  said. 

"No,  I  don't  suppose  you  do,  nor  ever  will,"  Sunny 
said.  "Only  he  don't  mean  me  to  have  the  part." 

Rostheimer  nodded. 

"  Not  only  I  don'd  mean  you  to  haf  dat  part,  Miss 
Ducrow,  but  I  fancy  you  don'd  bring  dis  theatre  any 
luck!" 

"You  don't  mean  to  say" — Hemmingway  paused — 
"that  you  want  her  to  go? " 

"Dat's  it;  I  vant  her  to  go!"  Rostheimer  said.  "I 
god  an  idea  she  is  a  Jonah  in  dis  theatre.  See?"  He 
rubbed  his  hands  and  smiled  at  Sunny.  "Der  best 
ting  is  you  look  for  anoder  shop,  Miss  Ducrow!"  he  said. 

Hemmingway  looked  red  with  anger. 

"Look  here!"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  He  took 
Rostheimer  by  the  arm  and  led  him  to  the  window. 
For  some  moments  he  talked  quickly  and  angrily. 
Rostheimer  shook  his  head. 

"Whose  money,  is  it,  eh?"  he  asked.  "Mine,  ain'd 
it  ?  Very  goot.  I  haf  my  own  vay,  or  nod  anoder  penny 


Sunny  is  Discharged  139 

do  I  lend  to  dis  place.  Are  you  going  to  do  mitout  me, 
Max?  I  don'd  tink  so.  Very  well,  I  haf  my  way!" 

He  turned  to  Sunny. 

"Miss  Ducrow,"  he  said,  "we  dakeoff  Look  Out  There! 
in  dhree  veeks'  dime.  Our  contract  mit  you  den  ceases. 
You  vill  den  kindly  loog  for  anoder  blace  in  anoder 
theatre!"  He  smiled  at  her  viciously. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

NEW  PLANS 

IT  was  a   blow — a   knock-out    blow — all    the    worse 
because  so  unexpected.     But   the  confident   smile 
never  left  Sunny 's  face. 

"Sunny,  you've  got  to  hold  your  head  up  and  keep 
smiling! "  she  muttered.  "It's  no  good  howling.  There 
ain't  any  roads  without  hills.  I've  just  come  to  the  first 
hill,  that's  all,  and  I'm  going  to  climb  to  the  top  all 
right!" 

She  laughed  aloud,  partly  to  cheer  herself,  partly  so  that 
others  should  not  guess  that  there  was  anything  wrong. 

Bert  looked  at  her.  He  said  nothing.  He  knew 
Sunny;  he  could  read  her  as  an  open  book.  It  was  the 
only  thing  Bert  could  do  with  certainty. 

Strangely  enough,  it  was  Bert  who  had  made  the  one 
brilliant  success  of  the  piece,  and  no  one  was  more  sur- 
prised than  Bert  himself.  He  could  not  realize  it;  he 
could  not  believe  it.  The  moment  he  came  on  the 
stage,  nervous  and  ill  at  ease  and  awkward,  the  audience 
began  to  laugh.  When  he,  confused,  and  forgetting 
both  the  words  and  melody  of  his  song,  came  down  to 
the  footlights  and  cast  appealing,  anxious  glances  to  the 
musical  conductor,  the  audience  laughed  louder  still. 
When  he  sang  the  first  line  in  a  low,  melancholy  voice, 
and  then  halted  at  a  loss  and  appealed  to  the  conductor 
for  a  cue  for  the  second  line,  the  audience  was  in  fits  of 
laughter. 

140 


New  Plans 

It  was  less  what  he  did  than  the  way  he  did  it.  The 
look  of  utter  misery  never  for  a  moment  lightened  by  a 
smile  on  his  face;  the  wretched,  melancholy,  hang-dog 
expression,  the  slouch,  the  air  of  complete  misery  and 
the  wondering,  astonished  looks  that  he  gave  the  audi- 
ence made  them  laugh  till  the  tears  rolled  down  their 
faces.  It  was  the  height  of  genius.  He  was  an  actor 
in  ten  thousand,  they  said;  but  they  did  not  know  Bert. 

Night  after  night  it  was  the  same.  Hemmingway, 
in  spite  of  bad  business,  raised  Bert's  salary  a  pound  a 
week,  and  would  have  made  him  sign  a  contract,  but 
Bert  would  not. 

"I  ain't  going  to  stay  play-acting  long,"  he  said.  "I 
shall  get  a  job  byme-by  in  the  pickles  again.  It's  no 
use  me  signing  no  contracts." 

So  he  did  not. 

To-night  he  and  Sunny  walked  homeward  together. 

Sunny  was  unusually  silent. 

"Well?"  Bert  asked. 

"Not  particularly,"  Sunny  said. 

"I  thought  you  wasn't;  but  that  isn't  what  I  mean. 
What's  wrong?" 

"Oh,  the  sack,"  Sunny  said. 

Bert  evinced  no  surprise. 

"I  thought  you'd  got  a  contract,"  he  said. 

"So  I  had.  There's  only  one  thing  I  could  be  dis- 
missed for  and  that's  what  I  got — incompetence;  that's 
what  he  said." 

"Huh!"  Bert  shrugged  his  shoulders.  " Hemming- 
way's  a  fool,"  he  said. 

"It  wasn't  Hemmingway;  it  was  old  Bloomrotter." 

' '  Oh,  him,  old  Ros— thingumy ! ' '  Bert  said.  ' '  What's 
he  know?" 

"Enough  to  sack  me,"  Sunny  said.  " But,  law,  whatV 
the  use  o'  worrying?" 


I42  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Not  much!     I  s'pose  you'll  go  back  to  the  pickles?" 

Sunny  lifted  her  head. 

"I  don't  go  back  any  time,  Bert,"  she  said.  "I'm 
going  forward,  never  back.  See?  I'm  holding  my  head 
up  still  and  keeping  on  smiling,"  she  said.  "You  see  "- 
she  broke  into  a  merry  peal  of  laughter — "it's  got  to  be; 
it's  nature,"  she  said.  "You  never  do  just  what  you 
want  to  do  without  getting  a  pull  up  now  and  again. 
Goodness,  you  wouldn't  give  twopence  for  success  if 
you  could  get  it  for  just  asking  for  it.  You've  got  to 
fight  for  it,  Bert— fight.  See?  I'm  fighting!"  She 
clenched  her  small  white  teeth.  "I'm  fighting  all  the 
time.  I've  come  to  the  ditch,  Bert,  but  I'm  going  to  'op 
over  it  all  right.  It's  all  good  going  on  the  other  side." 

" If  I  was  you,"  Bert  said,  "I'd  go  and  see  old  Johnson 
and  Bill  Wilkins  and  get  took  back." 

"You  would!  I  won't!"  Sunny  said.  "I  ain't  going 
back;  and  what's  more  you  aren't  neither,  Bert,"  she 
said.  "Back!  There  ain't  no  such  words  as  going 
back.  I'm  going  right  on — right  forward;  that's  me." 

The  revue  dragged  towards  its  end.  The  new  piece 
was  in  rehearsal,  but  Sunny  had  no  part  in  it.  The 
other  girls  were  surprised.  She  was  plied  with  questions, 
but  she  only  laughed. 

Harvey  Daglan,  the  popular  "lead,"  stopped  her  one 
day. 

"I  say,  Sunny,"  he  said,  "aren't  you  in  this  new 
thing  .4 re  You  There?" 

"Not  as  you'd  notice,"  Sunny  said. 

"But,  good  heavens,  why  not?  I  had  half  an  idea 
that  Hemmingway  was  going  to  give  you  lead.  Now 
I  hear  he's  engaged  Miss  Deschamps." 

"Good  judge  too!"  Sunny  said. 

"I  say,  little  girl,  you  aren't  going  to  leave  us,  are 
you?"  he  asked. 


New  Plans  H3 

"I  think  it  looks  like  it." 

"That's  rotten.     I'll  have  a  talk  with  Hemmingway." 

"I  wouldn't;  it's  no  good,"  she  said.  "Besides,  it 
isn't  Hemmingway,  either;  it's  old  Bloomingblitzen ! " 

It  was  evident  that  Mr.  Daglan  did  have  a  few  words 
with  Hemmingway,  and  the  result  was  that  Rostheimer 
lay  in  wait  for  Sunny  that  evening. 

"Sunny,  I  got  sometings  to  say  mit  you,"  he  said. 

"Well,  get  on  with  it,"  Sunny  said. 

"  Sunny,  I  dink  I  might  alder  my  mind  aboud  you  yet." 

"  Do  you?    Well,  I  shan't  alter  my  mind  about  you." 

"You're  a  liddle  fool!"  he  said  briefly. 

Sunny  nodded.     She  smiled  at  him. 

"One  of  these  days,"  she  said,  "you  and  Hemmingway 
will  come  and  arst  me  to  come  back.  You'll  offer  me" 
— she  paused — "a  hundred  a  week,  you  will." 

He  laughed. 

"Himmel,  you've  got  der  goot  conceit  mit  yourself!" 

"  But  I  shan't  come  back  under  a  hundred  and  twenty." 
She  nodded.  ' '  You  wait. ' ' 

"No,  no,  no!"  Rostheimer  laughed.  "Sunny,  I  led 
you  stob  if  you  like,"  he  said.  "You'll  haf  to  go  in  der 
chorus,  bud " 

"No  chorus  for  me,"  Sunny  said.  "I'm  beyond  that. 
I'm  going  on,  not  back.  So-long!" 

She  left  him. 

"Well,"  Hemmingway  asked  when  Rostheimer  went 
back  to  the  office,  "have  you  made  it  up  with  her?" 

"No,  I  ain't.  She  won't  mage  it  ub  mit  me,"  Rost- 
heimer said.  "She  say  that  she'll  gome  back  when 
we  offer  her  a  hundred  and  dwenty  a  week.  I  dell  her 
she  can  stob  and  go  in  der  chorus  and  she  say  nein — 
no.  Datendsit!" 

Hemmingway  sighed. 

"We're  making  a  mistake,"  he  said.     "There's  her 


144  Sunny  Ducrow 

contract.  I've  got  an  idea  she  could  hold  us  to  it.  She 
can  prove  that  she  isn't  incompetent.  There's  the 
Press  notices  to  prove  that.  If  she  takes  action  we'll 
lose." 

"I  god  an  idea  dat  Sunny  Ducrow  isn't  going  to  dake 
action,"  Rostheimer  said. 

The  idea  of  taking  legal  action  never  entered  into 
Sunny 's  head. 

Sunny  made  careful  inquiries;  she  discovered  that 
Rostheimer  held  interests  in  some  half-dozen  London 
theatres  and  in  several  provincial  touring  companies. 

It  was  Harvey  Daglan  who  gave  her  an  introduction 
to  the  agent,  Moss  Bernstein. 

"Straight  as  a  die,  Sunny,"  Daglan  said.  "You  put 
yourself  in  his  hands.  I  met  him  at  the  club  yesterday 
and  put  in  a  word  for  you.  He's  got  an  eye  on  you 
already.  If  there's  one  man  who  can  get  you  on  it's 
Moss.  Go  to  him,  and  good  luck  to  you,  little  girl!" 

"You're  a  brick!"  Sunny  said.  "And— and  I'd  like 
to  give  you  a  kiss  for  luck!" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A  NEW  FRIEND 

O  you  shall,  Sunny."  Harvey  Daglan  put  his 
hands  under  her  elbows  and  lifted  her  off  her  feet. 
He  gave  her  a  hearty  kiss  and  set  her  down  again. 

The  next  morning  Sunny  was  in  Bernstein's  office. 

Moss  was  a  fat,  round,  little,  good-natured  man — 
very  typical  of  his  race.  It  is  a  race  that  has  earned 
the  name  of  being  grasping,  avaricious,  and  greedy; 
but  Jews  are  not  all  built  that  way,  any  more  than 
Christians  are  all  cast  in  one  mould.  There  is  the  gener- 
ous, good-natured  Jew,  and  the  generous  Jew  is  perhaps 
the  most  widely  generous,  good-natured  person  in  the 
world. 

Moss  was  of  that  type.  He  gave  lavishly;  he  sup- 
ported charities,  he  fed  the  hungry,  and  he  gave  drink 
to  the  thirsty.  Jew  or  Gentile,  no  one  ever  came  to 
him  in  distress  but  that  his  fat  hand  went  into  his 
capacious  pocket. 

He  was  a  short  man,  as  broad  as  he  was  high.  He 
had  a  large,  fleshy  nose  and  thick,  cherry  lips.  He  was 
fat — grossly  fat — his  neck  hung  over  the  back  of  his 
collar  in  large,  greasy  folds. 

"  Hello ! "  he  said.     ' '  Thunny  Ducrow,  ain't  it  ? " 

She  nodded.  She  looked  hard  at  him,  then  she  smiled 
and  held  out  her  hand. 

"How  are  you?     Mr.  Daglan  sent  me  to  you." 

"Good  boy,  Harvey !"  he  said.   "Thit  down,  my  dear !" 

10  145 


146  Sunny  Ducrow 

He  took  her  hand  and  patted  it.  "Had  a  row  with  old 
Rostheimer,  ain't  you?" 

"No,  I  ain't!"  she  said. 

"I  thought " 

"He  had  a  row  with  me.  I  ain't  having  rows  with 
no  one!" 

"You've  got  a  contract  with  Hemmingway?" 

"Yes." 

"Two  y  earth  .isn't  it?" 

Sunny  nodded. 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it — take 
action?" 

"Not  me!  I  ain't  got  time!"  Sunny  said.  "I  don't 
want  to  start  meddling  with  no  law.  I  want  to  get  back 
on  the  stage  and  get  a  move  on!" 

He  nodded. 

"You're  wise!"  he  said.  "You'd  very  likely  win, 
but  it  'ud  cost  you  thomething  in  the  long  run.  You'd 
get  the  name  of  being  an  artiste  who  went  to  the  Courts, 
and  managers  'ud  fight  shy  of  you.  How  about  the 
provinces?" 

Sunny  shook  her  head. 

"Not  me!  London's  good  enough  for  me,"  she  said. 
"I'm  staying  in  London.  When  you  get  out  into  the 
provinces  you  get  forgot." 

"Quite  right!"  he  said.  He  sat  back  in  his  chair  and 
thought  deeply. 

"Barstowe's  taking  off  All  Fares,  Please,  in  three  or 
four  weeks;  he's  got  a  big  production  up  his  sleeve.  I 
fancy  he's  engaged  the  artistes,  but  I'll  see  him  to-day. 
Got  your  Press  notices?" 

Sunny  nodded ;  she  produced  them.  She  had  brought 
a  little  parcel  of  them.  Acting  on  Hemmingway's 
advice,  she  had  subscribed  to  a  Press  cutting  agency, 
so  she  had  all  her  Press  notices  pasted  into  a  book. 


A  New  Friend  147 

Besides  the  notices,  there  were  half  a  dozen  photographs 
by  Hurlingham. 

"I  thay,  how  did  you  get  Hurlingham  to  take  you?" 
Moss  asked. 

"Just  told  him  I  wanted  to  be  took  and  he  took  me 
all  right.  He  pays  me  pretty  well.  I  shan't  starve  so 
long  as  I  go  to  him,"  Sunny  said. 

"  You're  a  wonder ! "  the  little  man  said.  "  I've  known 
actresses  in  good  positions,  mind  you,  almost  go  down  on 
their  knees  and  ask  him  to  take  them.  They  offer  him 
any  price ;  but  he  won't.  When  can  you  come  in  again  ?." 

"Any  time;  it's  the  last  night  to-night!"  Sunny  said. 

He  nodded. 

"I'm  lunching  with  Barstowe  to-day.  Come  in  this 
afternoon.  I'll  very  likely  have  something  to  tell  you — 
I  hope  so!  Well,  good-bye,  my  dear,  for  the  present!" 

"Barstowe;  he's  the  Realm  man,  isn't  he?"  Sunny 
asked. 

"Yes;  the  biggest  man  in  London.  Rostheimer 
don't  have  to  finance  him." 

"S'posing  I  go  and  have  a  chat  with  him  first?" 
Sunny  asked. 

Moss  laughed. 

"You  couldn't  do  it  in  a  hundred  years!"  he  said. 
"No  one  ever  goeth  to  have  a  chat  with  Barstowe.  I 
get  on  with  him  all  right,  because  I  used  to  go  to  thchool 
with  him.  Don't  you  think  of  it,  my  dear.  You'll 
have  to  pass  seven  thecretaries  and  about  ten  under  - 
thecretaries  and  a  regiment  of  commissionaires  and  clerks 
and  other  folk  before  you  get  as  far  as  Curtiss's  office. 
Curtiss  is  Barstowe's  private  secretary,  and  no  one 
gets  beyond  him." 

"Bet  you  I  do!"  Sunny  said.  She  glanced  at  the 
clock;  it  was  a  quarter  to  twelve.  "What  time  are  you 
meeting  him  at  the  club?" 


148  Sunny  Ducrow 

"One,"  Moss  said. 

"I'll  see  him  before  you  do,"  Sunny  said. 

Moss  laughed,  he  chuckled. 

"My  dear,  you  are  very  clever,  but  I'll  bet  you  a 
dothen  pairs  of  gloveth  to  a  brath  farthing  you  don't  thee 
him!" 

"I  take  it — that  bet,  I  mean!"  Sunrty  said.  She  went 
out,  she  hailed  a  taxi-cab. 

"Realm,"  she  said.     "You  know,  that  big  theatre!" 

Five  minutes  later  the  cab  dropped  her  outside  the 
Realm. 

She  was  going  to  see  Barstowe  somehow.  She  was 
on  her  mettle.  Moss  had  told  her  she  could  not  do  it, 
she  had  said  she  could.  It  would  have  been  easier  for 
her  if  she  had  known  precisely  where  Barstowe's  office 
was,  but  she  did  not  know.  She  would  have  to  chance 
her  luck. 

Sunny  went  to  the  stage-door.  There  was  a  large- 
sized  commissionaire  there;  she  nodded  to  him  sweetly, 
wished  him  good-morning,  and  before  he  could  say  a 
word  she  had  pushed  open  the  door  and  gone  in. 

"Number  one.     Soon  settled  him,"  Sunny  thought. 

She  was  behind  the  scenes.  It  was  less  strange  to 
her  now  than  it  had  been  when  she  had  first  entered 
Hemmingway's  theatre.  Presently  she  found  a  stage 
hand. 

"  Good-morning ! ' '  she  said.     ' '  Where  is  Mr.  Curtiss  ? ' ' 

"In  his  office,  I  expect,  miss,"  the  man  said. 

"Oh  yes.  Let  me  see.  I  forget  which  is  his  office 
now!" 

"I'll  show  you,"  he  said  politely.  "You'll  have  to 
pass  through  the  general  office  first;  Mr.  Curtiss's  office 
is  beyond  that." 

"And  beyond  that  is  Mr.  Barstowe's  office,  isn't  it?" 
Sunny  asked. 


A  New  Friend  149 

He  nodded. 

That  was  all  Sunny  wanted  to  know.  The  man  left 
her  outside  the  door  of  the  large  suite  of  offices  from 
which  Barstowe  conducted  his  huge  business.  Bars- 
towe's  "Realms"  existed  in  every  town  of  any  size 
throughout  the  country.  He  was  the  accepted  king  of 
the  music-hall  world.  He  was  the  man  who  had  lifted 
the  halls  and  had  placed  them  on  a  level  with  the  legiti- 
mate stage.  Time  was  not  so  many  years  ago  when 
legitimate  actors  and  actresses  looked  down  on  the 
artistes  of  the  halls.  It  was  different  now,  thanks  to 
Barstowe .  Some  of  the  greatest  living  actors  and  actresses 
were  not  above  accepting  a  contract  from  him  to  appear 
at  one  or  another  of  his  "Realms."  He  was  certainly 
a  great  man,  a  great  power,  beside  whom  Hemmingway 
was  an  upstart,  a  nobody,  a  mere  mushroom! 

But,  like  all  great  men,  his  time  was  worth  gold,  and 
he  was  difficult  to  approach.  A  man  cannot  run  a 
business  like  Barstowe's  if  he  sees  every  Jack  and  Jill 
who  wants  to  waste  his  time.  Sunny  realized  all  this, 
but  she  was  going  to  see  Barstowe. 

She  opened  the  door  and  entered  the  outer  office. 
There  was  a  commissionaire  at  the  door.  He  stepped 
forward. 

"Thanks!"  Sunny  said  pleasantly.  "Oh,  it's  all 
right,  thanks!"  She  passed  him  by;  a  clerk  rose 
and  came  towards  her. 

"  I  hope  Mr.  Curtiss  isn't  mad  with  me  for  being  late," 
she  said,  smiling  at  him. 

"Mr.  Curtiss!"  he  said.  "Have  you  an  appointment 
with  him?" 

"Goodness!"  she  said.  "Didn't  you  know — I'm 
Sunny  Ducrow?"  She  smiled  broadly. 

"I'll  tell  Mr.  Curtiss  that  you  are  here,  Miss  Ducrow," 
the  young  man  said. 


150  Sunny  Ducrow 

"What's  the  use  of  telling  him  what  he'll  be  able  to 
see  with  his  own  eyes  ? "  she  said.  "  I'll  tell  him  myself! " 

She  slipped  past  the  clerk  and  made  for  a  large,  solid- 
looking,  mahogany  door.  She  opened  it  and  went  in. 

It  was  a  large  room,  luxuriously  furnished.  There 
was  a  thick  and  valuable  carpet  on  the  floor.  The  walls 
of  the  room  were  decorated  in  two  shades  of  blue.  There 
was  some  fine  old  oak  furniture,  some  valuable  blue- 
and-white  Nankin  plates  on  the  walls,  one  or  two  good 
pictures,  portraits  of  celebrated  actors  and  actresses. 

At  a  massive  roll-top  desk  a  youthful,  fair-haired  man 
was  seated  writing.  He  was  exquisitely  attired.  He 
wore  a  single  eyeglass,  and  had  the  appearance  of  aft 
army  officer  in  mufti.  He  looked  up  and  stared  at 
Sunny  in  sheer  astonishment. 

"I  beg  your  pardon!"  he  said.  "How  is  it  you  came 
in  without  being  announced?" 

"I  told  'em  I'd  announce  myself!"  she  said.  "I'm 
Sunny  Ducrow.  How  are  you?" 

She  held  out  her  hand  firmly  and  smiled  at  him. 
There  was  something  irresistible  in  Sunny's  smile.  The 
youthful-looking  man  smiled  faintly,  though  he  took 
no  notice  of  the  small,  outstretched  hand. 

"Oh,  too  proud  to  shake  hands,  are  you?"  she  said. 

"I — I  beg  your  pardon!"  he  said.  He  took  her  hand 
and  held  it  limply  for  a  moment,  then  dropped  it.  "And 
now  may  I  ask " 

Sunny  looked  round  the  room.  She  saw  another 
door.  She  guessed  what  was  behind  that  door. 

"Mr.  Bernstein  is  having  lunch  with  Mr.  Barstovre 
at  one,"  she  said. 

"Well?" 

"I've  got  to  see  Mr.  Barstowe  first!"  Sunny  said. 

"That  is  impossible!" 

"Is  it?     I've  got  good  eyesight!"  Sunny  said. 


A  New  Friend 

"  I  mean  that  Mr.  Barstowe  sees  no  one  on  any  con- 
dition whatever!" 

Sunny 's  face  fell. 

"Anyhow,  he'd  see  me,"  she  said. 

"I  fancy  not,  Miss — er — Miss  Ducrow!" 

Sunny  stared  hard  at  the  mahogany  door  facing  her. 
Behind  that  door  was  the  inaccessible  Mr.  Barstowe. 
She  would  see  him  somehow — must  see  him,  or  she 
would  drop  in  her  own  estimation. 

"I  am  sorry,"  Mr.  Curtiss  said;  "but  I  really  have 
no  time.  Mr.  Barstowe  will  certainly  not  see  you.  It 
is  quite  out  of  the  question.  If  you  would  be  so  kind 
as  to  leave  any  message  you  would  like  conveyed  to  him  ? " 

"Then  I  suppose  I'm  done!"  Sunny  said.  She  had 
seated  herself,  now  she  rose.  "I  wanted  to  see  him 
particularly,"  she  said,  "so  I  thought  I'd  try.  They 
told  me  I  never  should,  but  I  didn't  believe  it,  and  now 
— now — ' '  She  paused.  ' '  Well,  I  suppose  I'm  beaten ! ' ' 
she  said,  with  a  frank  smile.  "I'll  go,  then."  She 
turned  towards  the  window.  "I'm  sorry  to — oh!"  she 
gasped.  "Oh,  oh,  good  gracious!" 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?" 

Sunny  did  not  answer,  she  pointed.  Her  face  had 
gone  white,  her  eyes  were  glaring,  her  hand  and  arm 
shook.  Mr.  Curtiss  rose  and  hurried  across  to  the  win- 
dow. He  looked  out.  He  saw  nothing  unusual,  only 
a  view  of  the  side  street.  Then  suddenly  he  heard  a 
door  open  and  shut  quickly.  He  swung  round.  Miss 
Sunny  Ducrow  had  vanished. 

"Well,  I'm  hanged!"  he  gasped. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A    GENTLEMAN 

HE  was  a  big  man;  he  had  the  look  of  a  rather  needy 
farmer.  A  thin  beard  straggled  over  his  cheeks, 
his  forehead  was  lofty,  his  face  rugged,  his  eyes  keen. 
He  had  a  colossal  jaw,  and  mouth  as  firm  and  as  hard 
as  nails. 

He  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  stared  at  Sunny — stared 
at  her  in  sheer  astonishment,  as  though  she  was  a  rare 
and  uncommon  specimen. 

"Good-morning!"  Sunny  said  briskly.  "You're  a 
busy  man.  I'm  not  going  to  worry  you,  or  fill  your  time 
up.  It's  took  me  a  bit  of  trouble  to  get  to  see  you. 
They  said  I  couldn't,  I  said  I  could — I'm  here!  I 
started  in  a  pickle  factory;  worked  hard  sticking  on 
labels  at  first,  then  got  into  the  boiling-room — "  She 
paused. 

The  great  man  said  never  a  word;  he  still  stared  at 
her  in  silence. 

It  was  a  small  and  distinctly  shabby  room.  The  floor 
was  bare  except  for  a  ragged  old  rug.  Papers,  old 
play-bills,  posters,  and  other  odds  and  ends,  thick  with 
dust,  were  pinned  here  and  there  on  the  wall.  On  the 
floor  lay  papers  in  heaps.  The  great  man  held  a  pen. 
He  still  stared  at  Sunny  in  a  silent,  disconcerting  kind 
of  way. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  say  anything.  Give  me  just 
two  minutes  and  then  I'll  go,"  Sunny  said.  "I  started 

152 


A  Gentleman  153 

in  the  pickles.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  get  on.  Miss 
Montressor  gave  me  my  first  start.  I've  been  playing 
at  Hemmingway's  in  the  revue,  Keep  off  the  Grass.  I 
did  pretty  well.  I  hadn't  much  chance,  but  I  made  the 
best  of  it.  Mr.  Bernstein'll  show  you  my  Press  notices 
presently  at  lunch."  She  paused  for  a  moment.  "I'm 
leaving;  Hemmingway  is  sorry,  so  is  Mr.  Daglan,  and 
the  others.  I  don't  get  on  with  Mr.  Rostheimer."  She 
paused  again.  "I  want  any  place  where  I  can  get  a 
chance,  that's  all — a  small  chance  to  start  with.  Pre- 
sently I  shan't  have  to  ask  for  places.  They'll  come  and 
look  for  me.  I'm  sorry  about  worrying  you  and  taking 
your  time  up;  good-morning!" 

She  turned  to  the  door. 

"Stop!" 

It  was  the  first  word  he  had  uttered. 

"What's  your  name?" 

"Sunny  Ducrow;  good-morning!" 

He  did  not  answer  this  time.  She  went  out  to  find 
Curtiss  red  with  anger. 

"That  was  a  nice  trick!" 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  said.  "I'd  got  to  see  him,  and  now 
I've  seen  him  I  like  him,"  she  added;  "he  looks  strong." 

" I  wonder  he  didn't  kick  you  out!" 

"He  didn't,  because  he  happens  to  be  a  gentleman!" 
Sunny  said. 

Neither  he  nor  she  had  seen  the  mahogany  door  open 
an  inch  or  two;  it  opened  no  farther. 

"I'm  going;  I  didn't  waste  a  lot  of  his  time!" 

"If  ever  you  play  a  trick  like  that  again " 

"I'm  sorry — sorry  about  you,  I  mean,  but  glad  I  saw 
him.  As  for  his  kicking  me  out" — she  paused — "he 
wouldn't.  He's  not  the  sort  to  kick  girls  out.  He's 
not  built  that  way;  good-morning!" 

She  went. 


154  Sunny  Ducrow 

The  mahogany  door  opened  wider;  Mr.  Barstowe 
came  into  the  room. 

"That  girl,  Curtiss,"  he  said.  "Sunny  Ducrow,  is 
she  any  good?" 

"Made  a  bit  of  a  hit  at  Hemmingway's  in  Keep  off 
the  Grass.  She's  in  his  present  failure.  Papers  speak 
well  of  her;  hasn't  much  chance." 

Barstowe  nodded. 

"She'll  get  on,"  he  said  briefly.  "We're  booked  up, 
aren't  we,  for  What  Are  You  Going  to  Have  ?" 

Curtiss  nodded. 

"Every  part  including  chorus,  all  fixed!"  he  said. 

Barstowe  frowned. 

"Tell  Mortimore  I'd  like  to  see  him  at  twenty  minutes 
past  four  this  afternoon — twenty  past,  remember.  I'll 
give  him  three  minutes,  that's  all!" 

Then  he  went  out. 


CHAPTER  XX 

HER  OWN,    BACK 

MR.  BERNSTEIN  smiled  at  Sunny. 
"My  dear,"  he  said,  "you're  the  limit i     If  they 
were  all  like  you  there'd  be  no  living  for  me !    You  thaw 
him?" 

"I  told  you  I  would  and  I  did!"  Sunny  said.  "He 
didn't  bite  my  head  off,  neither!" 

Moss  shook  his  head. 

"Thunny  Ducrow,  you'll  get  on,"  he  said. 

"That's  what  I'm  here  for,"  Sunny  said.  "I've  got 
to  hold  my  head  up  and  keep  smiling.  No  one  can  do 
my  smiling  for  me,  can  they?" 

"That's  true!" 

"What  did  he  say  to  you?" 

"Not  much.  He  never  thays  much.  He  looked 
through  the  Preth  notithes,  had  a  good  look  at  the  photo- 
graphs, and  then  told  me  that  all  the  cast  for  the  new 
thing,  What  Are  You  Going  to  Have?  was  filled  up." 

"Then  I'm  too  late?"  Sunny  said. 

Moss  shook  his  head. 

"No;  he's  thent  for  Mortimore.  He  ith  the  writer 
man.  He'll  write  you  in  a  part.  You're  engaged  at 
thix  pounds  a  week  to  start  with — thix  months'  contract 

— not  less  than  three  months  in  London.     How'th  that  ?" 
/ 

Sunny  nodded.     "  It'll  do  as  a  start,"  she  said. 
"  I've  got  a  provisional  contract  here  for  you  to  thign," 
Moss  said.     He  held  it  out  to  her. 

155 


156  Sunny  Ducrow 

Sunny  took  it  to  the  window  and  read  it  through. 

"I  thee  you  want  to  know  what  you're  signing,"  he 
said. 

"That's  me!"  Sunny  said.  "I  don't  sign  nothing 
that  I  don't  understand.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  that  at 
the  start.  This  here  is  all  right.  But  what  about  him 
signing  it,  too?" 

"He'll  thign  it  ail  right;  I  thign  as  his  agent." 

"All  right,  then,  give  us  the  pen!"  Sunny  said. 

Six  months  and  no  less  than  three  months  in  London ! 
Sunny  made  a  slight  alteration  in  the  contract.  She 
put  the  word  "first"  before  "three  months  in  London." 

"What's  that  for?"  Moss  asked. 

"Not  less  than  the  first  three  months  in  London," 
Sunny  said.  "  If  I  get  the  first  three  months  in  London, 
they'll  want  me  for  the  last  three  too.  See?  If  they 
send  me  off  somewhere  for  the  first  three  months  it's 
like  being  dead  in  London  for  three  months,  ain't  it?" 

"That'th  all  right!" 

Mr.  Hemmingway  and  Rostheimer  were  wrangling. 
Rostheimer  was  the  man  with  the  money  and  he  had  the 
last  word;  but,  for  all  that,  Hemmingway  stood  out  for 
his  rights. 

"You're  making  a  mistake,  losing  that  girl;  she's 
going  to  be  a  gold  mine,"  he  said.  "  She's  getting  to  be 
known.  We  shall  have  Barstowe  taking  her  if  we're 
not  careful!" 

"Barstowe!"  Rostheimer  said;  he  laughed.  "Bar- 
stowe don'd  dake  any  but  assured  successes;  he  don'd 
dake  no  risks,  Barstowe!" 

"All  right!  But  it's  a  mistake.  We  ought  to  keep 
her.  I  meant  her  to  have  the  lead  in  the  new  thing 
She  would  have  done  it  well.  We  could  make  her." 

"I  don'd  mean  to  make  her,  hang  her1" 


Her  Own,  Back  157 

"All  right,  she  was  my  find — Leslie  Montressor's 
find,  I  mean,  and  that's  the  same  thing.  We  oughtn't 
to  let  her  go." 

Rostheimer  was  sulky. 

"All  ride,  have  your  own  way,  den,"  he  said.  "I 
don'd  care,  no  lead  for  her;  just  keep  her  on  ad  dree 
bounds  a  week." 

Hemmingway  rang  the  bell. 

"Tell  Miss  Ducrow  I'd  like  a  word  with  her,"  he  said. 
"  Hello,"  he  added,  as  the  door  opened  and  Lord  Dobring- 
ton  came  in. 

Dobrington  nodded  at  the  two  men. 

"I  say,"  he  said,  "is  this  right  that  Miss  Sunny 
Ducrow  is  leaving  you?" 

"I  hope  not,"  Hemmingway  said.  "It  was  Ros- 
theimer's  doing;  it's  a  mistake;  we've  just  got  him  to 
reconsider  it.  I've  sent  for  her  to  tell  her  she  can  stay." 

"That's  good!"  Dobrington  said,  with  a  sigh.  "It's 
not  the  little  bit  of  money  I've  got  in  it  that's  worrying 
me,  Hemmingway;  it's  the  girl  herself.  I'd  like  to  see 
her  have  her  chance.  She's  got  it  in  her  to  make  a  big 
success,  if  I  know  anything." 

Rostheimer  sneered. 

"Her  a  big  success!"  he  said.  "Pooh!  Here's  Hem- 
mingvay  been  delling  me  dat  she'll  go  to  Barstowe's 
if  we  led  her  go.  She'll  need  a  bid  more  experience  before 
Barstowe  would  lock  at  her.  I  know  his  game.  Hang 
him !  He  leds  other  men  find  'em  and  bring  'em  on.  He 
watches  'em,  sees  who  the  failures  are,  who  the  successes. 
He  bicks  out  the  promising  ones  and  collars  'em,  leaving 
der  failures  on  our  hands.  That's  his  game!" 

"  He's  a  business  man!"  Dobrington  said.     "And " 

He  paused. 

The  door  opened  and  Sunny  entered. 

Hemmingway  rose;  he  put  a  chair  for  her.     He  was 


158  Sunny  Ducrow 

always  polite;  he  took  his  hat  off  to  a  chorus-girl  in  the 
street,  never  forgetting  that  though  she  was  only  a 
chorus-girl,  yet  she  was  still  a  woman. 

"Good-morning — evening,  I  should  say!"  Sunny  said. 
She  smiled  round  on  them  all.  "What's  the  trouble 
this  time?" 

"Mr.  Rostheimer  and  I  have  been  talking  matters 
over,  Miss  Ducrow,"  Hemmingway  said. 

"I  bet  I  know  who  done  most  of  the  talking!"  Sunny 
said. 

Dobrington  laughed.  He  smiled  at  Sunny  and  she 
smiled  back  at  him — yes,  she  did  like  him.  There  was 
something  so  frank  and  friendly  about  that  smile  of  his. 

"I  wanted  to  see  you,  too,  Sunny,"  he  said.  "But 
that  can  wait.  It's  a  favor  I've  got  to  ask." 

Hemmingway  frowned. 

"This is  a  business  matter,"  he  said.  "  Miss  Ducrow, 
we  have  decided  to  allow  you  to  remain." 

"Very  good  of  you!"  Sunny  said. 

"After  careful  consideration,  we  haf  decided  to  give 
you  anoder  chance,"  Rostheimer  said.  "But  you've 
god  to  keep  your  blace  and  remember  your  bosition 
here.  See?" 

"I  shan't  forget  it!"  Sunny  said.  "Only  I'm 
sorry " 

"We  will  engage  you  for  Are  You  There?  And 
reinstate  the  contract " 

"Which  you  broke!"  Sunny  said,  smiling. 

"We  don't  admit  that!" 

"You  gave  me  notice,  didn't  you?" 

"That's  true,  but ") 

"You  said  I  was  incompetent,"  Sunny  said. 

"Yes,  but " 

"That's  all  right,  then.  You  broke  the  contract; 
it's  done  with.  They  say  I  could  have  sued  you  on  it. 


Her  Own,  Back  159 

but  not  me;  no  law  for  me,  thanks!  I'm  sorry" — she 
rose — "I  can't  take  no  part  in  Are  You  There?  because 
I'm  engaged " 

' '  Engaged  ? ' '  Hemmingway  said. 

''Mr.  Barstowe — I  saw  him  this  morning " 

"Saw  Barstowe?"  Rostheimer  gasped. 

"And  he's  engaged  me  for  six  months,  and  having  a 
part  writ  for  me  in  What  Are  You  Going  to  Have?  That 
settles  it,  don't  it?" 

Hemmingway  stared  at  her. 

"Is  that  the  truth?"  he  said. 

Sunny  flushed.  "When  I  tell  a  lie,  you  send  me  a 
telegram  about  it,"  she  said.  "It's  the  truth.  I  seen 
him  this  morning.  Then  Mr.  Bernstein  chatted  it  over 
with  him.  Mortimore — that's  his  name — is  going  to 
write  me  a  part,  and  I'm  fixed  for  six  months." 

"I — I'm  sorry!"  Hemmingway  said.  He  turned 
angrily  on  Rostheimer.  "What  did  I  tell  you?"  he 
shouted. 

Sunny  went  out.     Dobrington  followed  her. 

"Bravo!"  he  said.  "Bravo,  little  girl!  You  got 
your  own  back  on  them  this  time.  They'll  want  you, 
and  want  you  badly.  Don't  enter  into  any  new  con- 
tract at  the  end  of  the  six  months,  and  don't  be  in  a 
hurry.  You'll  have  Hemmingway  offering  you  big 
money,  mark  my  words!" 

Sunny  smiled. 

"Everyone's  going  to  offer  me  big  money  one  day," 
she  said.  "Why,  I  haven't  fairly  started  yet!" 

"Sunny,  I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me.  You 
will,  I  know,  because  you're  a  little  brick,  and  because" 
— he  paused;  his  voice  faltered  a  little — "because, 
Sunny,  I  would  do  a  good  deal  for  you,"  he  said  tenderly. 
"And  I  believe  you'd  do  something  for  me." 

"That's  right!"  she  said.     She  looked  him  full  in 


160  Sunny  Ducrow 

the  eyes.  "You  and  me  are  friends  all  right!"  she 
said. 

"If  we  are  only  friends" — he  paused — "only  friends, 
it  will  be  your  fault,  Sunny,  not  mine.  But  that  is  not 
what  I  meant  to  say.  My  mother  is  getting  up  a  big 
concert;  it's  to  be  held  in  our  town  house.  She's  left 
it  to  me  to  get  one  or  two  artistes.  There'll  be  a  good 
advertisement  out  of  it.  Sunny,  will  you  sing  for  us?" 

"I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't,"  she  said. 

"You  will  promise,  then?" 

Sunny  put  her  hand  out. 

"I'll  sing  for  you,"  she  said.     "Yes,  if  you  want  me." 

"Sunny,"  he  said  quietly,  "I  want  you  always — want 
you !  I  shall  want  you  till  I ' 

Sunny  laughed. 

"You  tell  your  ma,"  she  said,  "I'll  sing  for  her. 
How's  she  keeping?" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A   SONG 

SUNNY  DUCROW  and  Bert  Jackson  sat  on  a  seat 
in  St.  James's  Park  talking  earnestly. 

"It's  a  bit  rough  on  the  British  public,  but  it  can't  be 
helped,"  Sunny  said.  "They'll  have  to  pay  twice  to 
see  you  and  me — me  at  one  place  and  you  at  another. 
Only  I  don't  know  the  Barstowe  lot  well  enough  to  shove 
in  an  oar  for  you  yet;  besides,  it's  only  six  months  cer- 
tain I've  got  with  them.  After  that,  Hemmingway  will 
be  asking  me  to  come  back." 

Bert  sniffed. 

"I'm  not  so  sure,"  he  said.  "People  ain't  always  in 
a  hurry  to  have  people  back.  If  we  was  to  go  to  John- 
son's, now,  I  doubt  if  he'd  take  either  of  us  on!" 

"But  we  aren't  going,"  Sunny  said.  "Me  and  you 
have  done  with  pickles  and  jams,  we  have!" 

"I  'card  it  this  morning,"  Bert  said  miserably;  "it 
didn't  sound  'arf  bad  on  the  orgin." 

"What?" 

"That  there  song  of  mine,  Piccalilli  Lily — the  one  that 
I  wrote  for  you.  One  of  these  days  I'll  write  something 
as'll  make  a  stir!" 

Something  like  a  glint  of  enthusiasm  came  into  his 
dull  eyes  and  then  died  out  again. 

"I  get  all  sorts  of  ideas,  I  do.  I  thought  of  writing 
a  sketch.  I've  got  an  idea." 

"Tell  us,"  Sunny  said. 
"  161 


1 62  Sunny  Ducrow 

Bert  shook  his  head. 

"You'd  only  laugh." 

"Go  on!"  Sunny  said.     "Tell  us  the  idea." 

Bert  hesitated. 

"Well,  it's  like  this,"  he  began  awkwardly.  He  went 
on,  forgetting  his  awkwardness;  his  eyes  grew  brighter, 
the  words  came  faster.  Sunny  clasped  her  hands  and 
leaned  forward,  while  Bert  unravelled  the  plot  that  his 
brain  had  conceived. 

It  was  a  good  plot,  short  and  pithy,  a  stirring  idea. 
Sunny  found  herself  wondering  how  Bert  had  ever 
thought  of  it.  He  drew  near  the  end,  his  voice  dropped, 
an  air  of  diffidence  came  to  him. 

"That's  some'ow  'ow  it  goes,"  he  said. 

Sunny  said  nothing;  her  eyes  were  gleaming. 

"It's  good!"  she  said.  "It's  good,  Bert!  You  did 
ought  to  write  it!" 

"I've  been  thinking  of  trying,"  he  said;  "but  I'd  only 
make  a  mess  of  it,  I  suppose." 

"Let's  write  it  together,  Bert,"  she  said — "me  and 
you  in  off  time;  we  could  come  here  and  sit  and  talk  it 
over." 

"Would  you?"  he  said.      "You  think  it  ain't  bad?" 

"I  think  it's  splendid,  Bert.  I  want  to  play  that 
part.  I  could  do  it.  I  know  I  could!  People  'ud 
laugh  at  the  idea  of  me — a  red-haired,  snub-nosed  girl 
like  me — playing  tragedy;  for  that's  what  it  comes  to. 
I — I  could  do  it.  I'd  feel  it,  I  would! "  Her  eyes  blazed. 
"I'd  live  in  it,  specially  if  you  and  me  was  to  write  it 
ourselves.  Bert,  let's  try." 

She  awoke  no  enthusiasm  in  him. 

"All  right!"  he  said.  "I  don't  mind.  Any'ow,  we 
can't  lose  anything  by  trying." 

Sunny  sat  staring  before  her  with  eyes  that  saw 
nothing,  yet  everything.  She  was  seeing  the  part, 


A  Song  163 

living  in  it.  A  girl,  hard,  shallow,  greedy,  without  one 
good  trait  apparently  in  her  character,  eager  to  earn 
money  so  that  she  might  deck  herself  with  finery,  care- 
less of  how  she  gets  it  so  long  as  she  does  get  it.  She 
is  in  the  pay  of  a  foreign  and  antagonistic  government; 
war  breaks  out;  her  services  are  more  in  demand  than 
ever.  She  stands  to  earn  a  huge  sum  for  some  particu- 
larly black  act  of  betrayal.  She  is,  of  course,  beautiful, 
"and  that  'ud  be  the  hard  part  of  it  for  me,"  Sunny 
thought.  There  is  a  young  officer  who  falls  in  love  with 
her;  he  is  as  clay  in  her  hands.  Through  him  she  ob- 
tains the  secret  information  for  which  she  will  be  so 
handsomely  paid.  She  uses  it,  and  realizes  too  late 
that  she  loves  him.  It  ends  in  tragedy.  The  young 
fellow  is  arrested  and  condemned  by  court-martial.  He 
is  condemned  to  death.  The  last  scene  is  the  high  wall 
outside  the  barrack  square.  The  girl  is  there  alone. 
Within  the  walls  the  firing-party  is  lined  up.  She 
cannot  see,  but  she  knows.  There  is  the  sound  of  a 
volley.  He  has  paid  the  penalty  for  his  love,  and  she 
falls  lifeless.  That  is  all! 

"I  could — I  could  do  it!"  Sunny  muttered.  She 
clenched  her  teeth.  "Bert,  I  could  do  it.  I'd  make 
'em  think  it  was  real ! "  She  breathed  hard,  she  clenched 
her  small  white  teeth.  Into  her  eyes  came  a  look  Bert 
had  never  seen  there  before. 

He  hunched  his  shoulders. 

"I  can't  see  you  doing  it,"  he  said. 

"I — I  can!"  Sunny  said.  "I  can,  Bert,  and  me  and 
you'll  write  it.  We'll  do  it!  I've  only  got  six  months 
at  Barstowe's.  After  that  I'll  do  it — do  it  on  my  own 
somehow!" 

She  paused.  Her  enthusiasm  was  not  contagious  so 
far  as  he  was  concerned.  Bert  got  up. 

"Come  on!"  he  said. 


164  Sunny  Due  row 

Sunny  rose  too.  They  sauntered  out  from  the  park. 
They  made  their  way  in  the  direction  of  Whitehall. 
Sunny  walked  as  in  a  dream;  there  was  a  far-away  look 
in  her  eyes.  Then  suddenly  she  stopped. 

"Law ! "  she  said.     "  Look  at  him,  Bert ! " 

Bert  stared  up.  A  mounted  Life  Guardsman  sat  stiffly 
on  his  horse.  He  shone  brilliantly  in  the  sunlight.  His 
face  was  as  of  wood  or  marble,  so  expressionless  it 
was. 

"Well,  I'm  blessed!"  Sunny  said.  "If  it  ain't  'Arry 
Wilkins!" 

Bert  stared.  So  it  was!  Harry  Wilkins,  who  for  a 
time  had  been  in  the  boiling-room  at  the  jam  factory. 

Sunny  put  her  hand  on  her  hips  and  stared  up  in 
rapt  admiration. 

"You  wouldn't  never  think  he  could  have  looked  like 
that!"  she  said.  "All  nice  and  polished!" 

"Looks  like  he  was  dead!"  Bert  said  mournfully. 
"Daren't  move.  I  s'pose  he  can't  in  that  tin  suit!" 

Sunny  and  Bert  walked  round  the  motionless  sentry. 
They  looked  at  him  from  every  point  of  view. 

"Wouldn't  his  mother  be  proud  of  him!"  Sunny  said. 

"Don't  you  remember  how  he  used  to  swear  some- 
thing awful?"  Bert  said.  "Remember  that  day  he 
dropped  some  hot  jam  on  his  foot?" 

Sunny  laughed.  Their  conversation  was  perfectly 
audible  to  the  guardsman.  He  glared  at  them  to  move 
on,  but  his  tongue  was,  perforce,  silent. 

"Ain't  he  a  picture?"  Sunny  said.  "Looks  like  a 
Christmas  card.  He  only  wants  'A  Merry  Christmas' 
writ  acrost  him,  don't  he?" 

"Looks  like  he  was  dead  and  stuffed  with  mud  and 
leaves,"  said  Bert. 

The  guardsman  stared  straight  ahead  of  him;  his 
eyes  were  on  vacancy,  his  lips  moved. 


A  Song  165 

"  'Ook  it!"  they  muttered.  "You  two  'ook  it  off, 
will  you?" 

"It's  alive!"  Sunny  said.  "Bert,  it's  alive!  Oh, 
Bert,  don't  I  wish  I  was  old  enough  to  'ave  a  nice  young 
man  like  that!" 

"Clear  out!"  the  guardsman  muttered.     "Be  off!" 

"He  don't  like  us  admiring  him!"  Bert  said.  " That 
'ud  be  my  job — sitting  there  thinking  and  looking  nice." 

"You!"  Sunrfy  said.  "You  can  think  all  right, 
but " 

"It  ain't  the  man,  it  ain't  what's  inside,"  Bert  said; 
"it's  that  nice  bright  tin  thing  he's  wearing.  He  didn't 
look  nothing  in  the  pickle  factory,  he  didn't.  You 
remember  Bill  Wilkins,  his  brother,  telling  him  once  to 
wash  his  dirty  neck?" 

The  guardsman  moved  slightly  on  his  horse.  He 
stared  at  them.  There  were  daggers  in  his  eyes. 

"Bert,  it  ain't  fair  us  being  free,  and  'aving  the  use 
of  our  tongues  and  limbs,  standing  here  talking  about 
'im,"  Sunny  said.  "Come  on,  Bert!" 

They  went  on,  casting  glances  back  at  the  big  Life 
Guardsman. 

"Wonderful,  isn't  it,  the  difference  it  makes?"  Sunny 
said.  "Now  I've  got  to  get  off  to  rehearsals.  I  don't 
like  the  lot  at  Barstowe's.  They  don't  like  me,  neither. 
I  'eard  one  gel  say  to  another  yesterday,  what  did  they 
want  to  employ  a  carroty-'eaded,  snub-nosed  brat  like 
me  for,  I  heard  'em!  It  didn't  matter,  though.  Bert, 
you  go  home ;  you  ain't  got  no  rehearsals.  You  go  home 
and  start  writing  that  out.  I've  got  an  idea  we're  going 
to  make  something  out  of  that  idea  of  yours." 

Bert  shook  his  head. 

"  No  one  won't  look  at  it  when  it's  done." 

"We'll  see!"  Sunny  said.  "Anyway,  we've  got  six 
months  to  think  about  it.  You  make  a  start.  Go  on, 


1 66  Sunny  Ducrow 

Bert!  Wake  up!  Hold  your  head  up,  Bert,  and  keep 
on  smiling!  It's  the  only  way  to  face  life,  old  dear. 
Don't  be  beat  till  you're  down  and  out,  and  then  it's 
no  good  being  beat,  either!  Keep  on — keep  on  all  the 
time!  That's  me!  That's  my  motter!  'Old  your 
'ead  up,  Bert,  and  keep  smiling!"  She  gave  him  a 
dazzling  smile  and  hurried  away. 

Bert  stared  after  her. 

"If  I  wasn't  sensible,"  he  muttered,  "she'd  make  me 
think  I  was  a  blessed  genius !  After  all,  it  was  her  made 
me  write  Piccalilli  Lily,  and  it  didn't  do  so  bad! " 

Sunny  had  not  been  received  with  altogether  open 
arms  at  Barstowe's  Realm.  She  had  been  snubbed 
unmercifully;  but  snubs  had  no  effect  on  her — she  kept 
on  smiling.  The  other  young  ladies  looked  down  on 
her;  they  were  ornaments  to  their  profession — they  had 
been  specially  chosen.  It  was  not  every  girl  who  could 
get  into  a  revue  at  one  of  Barstowe's  "Realms."  How 
and  why  this  red-haired  snub-nosed  girl  had  got  taken 
on  passed  their  comprehension. 

"And  they  say  that  Barstowe  actually  had  a  part 
written  for  her,"  one  said. 

But  that  was  not  generally  believed.  One  thing  was 
certain,  however — Sunny  Ducrow  had  a  part.  It  was  a 
very  small  one,  and  did  not  greatly  affect  the  revue 
whether  it  was  in  or  out. 

But  the  fact  remained  she  had  a  part,  but  no  song. 
A  couple  of  dozen  lines  of  speaking  part  was  all  that 
Sunny  got,  and  Sunny  was  not  satisfied.  She  went  to 
see  Mr.  Curtiss,  and  that  well-dressed  young  man 
snubbed  her.  He  had  not  forgiven  the  trick  Sunny  had 
put  on  him  that  day. 

"Want  a  song?"  he  asked.     "So  do  many  others." 

"  I  want  to  earn  my  money,  and  I  ain't  going  to  earn 
it  just  saying  two  or  three  words." 


A  Song  167 

"If  we  are  satisfied,  I  don't  see  why  it  should  affect 
you!" 

"  That's  it ! "  Sunny  said.  "  I  ain't  satisfied,  and  that's 
what  counts  with  me  most." 

"If  you  realized  the  truth,"  he  said,  "you  are  a  great 
deal  more  lucky  than  you  deserve.  I  don't  understand, 
now,  why  Mr.  Barstowe  should  give  you  the  chance  you 
have.  It  is  not  as  if  you  had  any  experience.  You've 
got  a  part;  you've  got  your  name  on  the  programme — 
that's  something." 

Sunny  put  her  hands  on  her  hips  and  stared  at  him. 

"It's  nothing,"  she  said.  "My  name  on  the  pro- 
gramme !  Any  fool  can  get  her  name  on  the  programme ! 
If  I  made  hats  and  dresses  I  could  get  my  name  on  the 
programme.  So  I  could  if  I  done  the  electric  lighting." 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  "I  can  do  nothing." 

"I'll  see  Mr.  Barstowe." 

"You  won't,"  he  said  quickly. 

"Bet  you  I  do!"  she  said. 

She  smiled  at  him. 

"I'm  busy,"  he  said.  "I'd  be  glad  if  you  were  to  go, 
Miss  Ducrow." 

Sunny  went  to  the  door.     She  turned. 

"I'll  have  a  chat  about  it  with  Mr.  Barstowe  and  see 
what  he  says,"  she  said. 

Curtiss  glared  at  her. 

"  Mr.  Barstowe  will  probably  give  you  the  sack  if  you 
persist  in  annoying  him,"  he  said. 

Sunny  wanted  a  song,  and  she  knew  she  would  not 
be  satisfied  till  she  got  it.  Her  part  would  be  nothing 
without  a  song. 

But  the  question  was,  where  was  she  going  to  get  a 
song,  and,  when  she  got  it,  was  she  going  to  be  allowed  to 
sing  it  ? 

Signer  Posetti  had  always  been  kind.     She  liked  him 


1 68  Sunny  Ducrow 

and  she  knew  that  he  liked  her.  Signer  Posetti  lived 
in  a  little  back  street  in  Bloomsbury,  not  so  very  far 
from  her  own  lodgings.  The  following  morning  early 
Sunny  presented  herself  at  his  door. 

The  signor  was  up  and  having  breakfast. 

"I'll  go  up  and  see  him,"  Sunny  said. 

And  before  the  maidservant  could  stop  her  she  had 
gone  up  the  stairs  and  tapped  on  the  door. 

The  signor  looked  rather  old  and  rather  dirty  in  a 
filthy  old  dressing-gown.  He  was  putting  away  a  large 
quantity  of  eggs  and  bacon.  He  stared  at  her. 

"Why,  eet  ees  leetle  Sunny!"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  that's  all  right !  You  get  on  with  the  breakfast; 
I've  had  mine.  I've  come  about  a  song,"  Sunny  said. 

"What  song?" 

"A  song  you're  going  to  write  for  me  to  sing  at  the 
Realm  in  the  new  thing  I'm  in." 

"I'm  writing  no  song,  my  dear  leetle  Sunny." 

"That's  where  you  are  wrong,  you  are!"  she  said. 
She  took  out  a  piece  of  paper.  "I  found  them  words 
in  an  old  album  of  my  aunt's;  they  ain't  so  bad." 

She  read  them  aloud.  They  were  sentimental,  full 
of  love  and  tenderness.  Rather  pretty  words  they  were, 
and  they  had  captured  Sunny 's  fancy. 

"They  ain't  so  bad,  are  they?"  she  said. 

"No,  they  are  nice.  Good,  yes;  but  I  can't  write 
you  a  song,  my  dear  Sunny.  I  would  like  yes,  much; 
but  no.  Who  pay  to  me  for  the  song?" 

"You'll  get  paid  all  right,"  she  said.  "This  way. 
I'll  sing  the  song  at  the  Realm  and  make  it  a  success. 
The  song'll  be  published  as  '  Sung  by  Miss  Sunny  Ducrow 
in  the  successful  revue — '  and  that  sort  of  thing.  You'll 
get  the  money  for  the  publishing,  and  there  you  are 
now.  You  get  finished  with  them  eggs  and  things  and 
I'll  wait." 


A  Song  169 

Sunny  sat  down;  she  folded  her  hands. 

Twice  or  three  times  the  signer  looked  at  her,  then  he 
held  out  his  hand  for  the  words.  He  read  them,  eating 
the  while,  then  he  looked  at  her  again. 

"I  keep  de  copyright,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  of  course." 

"But  vill  Barstowe  let  you  sing?" 

"He's  got  to!"  Sunny  said. 

"I  don't  know!"  he  said  undecidedly. 

He  finished  his  breakfast.  He  rose  and,  dragging  his 
anfcient  dressing-gown  round  him,  went  to  the  piano. 

He  sat  down,  the  words  propped  upon  the  music-rest 
before  him.  He  made  strange  sounds  with  his  fingers; 
sometimes  they  distinctly  resembled  a  tune.  Sunny 
said  nothing;  she  sat  and  stared  out  of  the  window. 

Then  presently  he  rose.  He  went  to  the  table  and 
took  some  sheets.  He  began  to  write  furiously.  Now 
and  again  he  paused  and  hummed  to  himself.  Never 
once  did  he  touch  the  piano. 

"Ah!"  he  said  at  last. 

"Done?"  Sunny  asked. 

He  nodded.  He  went  to  the  piano  and  stuck  his 
score  up.  He  commenced  to  play;  it  was  a  beautiful 
melody.  Sunny  sat  entranced. 

"That's  fine!"  she  said.     "Now  sing  it!" 

Signor  Posetti  had  a  caricature  of  a  voice,  but  he  sang 
it,  and  Sunny  listened  enthralled. 

"Now  me!"  she  said. 

She  stood  up. 

"You  can  read  zee  score?"  he  asked. 

"Not  a  blinking  note,"  she  said.  "It  looks  like  all 
noughts  and  crosses  to  me;  but  I  remember  it  all  right. 
I'll  sing  it.  Here  goes!" 

She  sang  it  once  and  she  sang  it  twice.  Posetti  made 
her  sing  it  a  third  time. 


170  Sunny  Ducrow 

"And  now  once  more  for  the  finale,"  he  said.  "  Come! 
With  gestures  appropriately  you  act  so — now!" 

She  had  music  and  words  off  by  heart  now;  she  let 
herself  go. 

"Good,  good!"  he  said.  "Yes,  it  is  a  beautiful  song. 
You  can  sing  it.  It  shall  be  a  success.  I  will  make 
out  the  agreement,  giving  you  permission  to  sing,  but 
the  copyright  remains  with  me." 

He  dashed  off  a  few  lines.  Sunny  read  them  and 
nodded,  then  she  signed. 

"That's  all  right!"  she  said.  "Now  I've  got  to  get 
Barstowe  to  let  me  sing  it." 

Mr.  Barstowe  left  his  office  in  the  theatre  punctually 
at  a  quarter  to  one  every  morning.  He  lunched  usually 
at  his  own  club,  stayed  there  an  hour,  returned  to  the 
office  and  worked  till  six,  then  he  left  for  good.  He  kept 
rigid  hours  and  worked  by  the  clock.  He  was  probably 
the  most  inaccessible  man  in  London,  and  everyone 
knew  it. 

This  morning  his  car  was  waiting  at  a  quarter  to  one. 
Mr.  Barstowe  came  out,  opened  the  door,  and  got  in; 
the  car  moved  off  at  once. 

"Good-morning!"  Sunny  said. 

Barstowe  stared  at  the  small  figure  crouching  in  one 
corner  of  the  car. 

"I  know  you're  busy,  and  haven't  got  time  to  waste 
on  me,"  Sunny  said — "not  in  the  office,  anyhow — so  I 
thought  I'd  see  you  this  way;  it  won't  waste  your  time. 
I  want  a  song" — she  paused — "leastways,  I  don't  want 
a  song,  but  I  want  to — sing  one.  I've  got  a  song.  Do 
you  mind  hearing  it?" 

He  stared  at  her;  his  heavy  face  had  a  frown  on  it. 

"It  won't  hurt  you  to  hear  me  sing  it.  If  you  don't 
like,  you  can  stop  the  car  and  I'll  get  out,"  she  said. 
"Shall  I?" 


A  Song  171 

"Sing, "  he  said  briefly. 

Without  any  accompaniment  except  the  roar  of  the 
traffic  and  the  rattle  of  the  car,  Sunny  sang.  Her  voice 
rose  shrill,  sweet,  and  high.  She  could  not  stand  up 
because  of  the  motion  of  the  car,  so  she  sat  down.  She 
closed  her  eyes,  she  pictured  herself  standing  on  the 
stage,  she  saw  an  audience  before  her,  and  she  sang. 

The  car  stopped  just  as  Sunny  did;  it  stopped  before 
the  somewhat  gloomy  portals  of  the  exclusive  club. 

Barstowe  said  nothing;  he  got  out. 

"Where  do  you  want  to  go  to?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

"Home!"  Sunny  said.  She  gave  the  address.  Bar- 
stowe instructed  the  chauffeur  to  drive  her  home. 

"Back  here  at  two,"  he  said  to  the  chauffeur.  He 
nodded  to  Sunny  and  went  in  without  another  word. 

"He's  the  limit!"  Sunny  muttered.  "Thinks  I  am, 
too,  I  dare  say." 

She  snuggled  down  in  the  seat  of  the  car.  It  was  a 
fine  and  luxurious  car;  the  fittings  were  of  ivory.  Sunny 
took  it  all  in. 

"When  I  get  my  car,"  she  said,  "the  fittings'll  be  of 
tortoise-shell  and  silver." 

Sunny  went  to  rehearsal  that  afternoon.  She  spoke 
her  lines  and  encountered  the  snubs  of  the  others,  which 
she  accepted  with  a  broad  and  happy  smile. 

"Nothing  can  crush  that  creature,"  one  magnificent 
young  woman  said.  "It's  always  the  way  with  these 
gutter-snipes.  They  are  simply  one  mass  of  cheek.  I 
heard  that  she  actually  had  the  impudence  to  go  to 
Curtiss  and  tell  him  she  wanted  a  song.  I  hope  she  may 
get  it."  The  girl  laughed. 

"Bet  you  I'll  get  it  all  right,"  Sunny  said. 

The  girl  turned  and  stared  at  her,  shrugged  her  shoul- 
ders, and  favored  Sunny  with  a  view  of  her  very  shapely 
back. 


1 72  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Mr.  Curtiss  wants  to  see  Miss  Ducrow,"  a  messenger 
announced. 

"It's  about  my  song,"  Sunny  said. 

"More  likely  about  the  sack,"  said  Miss  Evelyn 
Clifforde. 

She  went  to  Mr.  Curtiss's  room;  he  seemed  less 
amiable  than  usual,  and  glared  at  her. 

"I  have  heard  from  Mr.  Barstowe,"  he  said,  "that  he 
wishes  you  to  try  over  a  song  that  you  have.  I  don't 
in  the  least  know  how " 

"I  told  you  I'd  talk  to  him,"  Sunny  said,  "and  I  did." 

Mr.  Curtiss  scowled.  "I  don't  understand  in  the 
least,"  he  said.  "Besides,  I  have  no  time —  That 
song — where  is  it  ? " 

"Got  it  here,"  Sunny  said. 

He  rang  a  bell  and  asked  that  Monsieur  de  Boisseau, 
the  musical  director,  might  be  so  good  as  to  come 
here. 

Monsieur  arrived.  He  was  a  stout,  red-faced,  good- 
natured-looking  Frenchman.  He  greeted  Sunny  with  a 
smile,  and  she  smiled  at  him.  They  had  exchanged  this 
courtesy  more  than  once. 

Only  yesterday  monsieur  had  said  to  her : 

"To  me  it  is  a  surprise,  you  haf  the  vivacitee,  the — 
the  esprit,  the  joie  de  vivre  of  a  girl  of  France.  It  is  not 
like  the  Engleesh;  the  Engleesh  are  heavy,  are  staid, 
are  dull,  but  you " 

And  Sunny  had  given  him  another  smile. 

Mr.  Curtiss  explained  it  was  a  song  Mr.  Barstowe 
wished  the  musical  director  to  try  over  with  Miss  Ducrow, 
and  if  the  musical  director  thought  anything  of  it,  Miss 
Ducrow  was  to  have  it  added  to  her  part. 

Monsieur  looked  at  Sunny.  He  saw  the  wistful  look 
in  her  eyes,  and  he  sat  down. 

The  song  was  pretty,  the  air  catching;  he  realized  it. 


A  Song  173 

Posetti  was  a  personal  friend  of  his,  and  this  was  Posetti's 
work. 

"And  now,  ma  chdre,  eef  you  please!"  he  said. 

Sunny  stood  up  and  sang.  Her  shrill  voice  trembled, 
trilled  through  the  room.  Mr.  Curtiss  left  off  his  scrib- 
bling to  listen.  Sunny  finished. 

"Not  bad!"  he  grunted. 

"Again!"  said  monsieur. 

Sunny  sang  it  the  second  time  better  than  she  had  the 
first. 

Monsieur  nodded.     "Excellent,  tr&s  bien,  vaire  good!" 

"Think  it'll  do  all  right? "  Sunny  asked. 

"I  shall  report  as  I  have  say — excellent!"  he  said. 

He  gave  her  a  smile  across  the  room,  accepted  one  in 
return,  and  went  out. 

Sunny  went  to  the  table  at  which  Mr.  Curtiss  was 
writing. 

"You  didn't  want  me  to  have  a  song?"  she  said. 

"Really,  it  did  not  matter  in  the  least  to  me,"  he  said. 

«  T » 

"Only  you  don't  think  it's  not  so  bad  now  you  heard 
it?"  she  said. 

"You  sang  it  rather  well!" 

Sunny  held  out  her  hand;  she  gave  him  a  dazzling  smile. 

" Let's  be  friends ! "  she  said.     "Why  not ? " 

He  looked  at  her  and  slowly  held  out  his  hand. 

"As  you  say,  why  not?"  he  said.  "If  you  wish  it, 
my  dear  Miss  Due " 

"I'm  Sunny  to  my  friends,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Curtiss  laughed. 

"Very  well,  Sunny,"  he  said.  "We're  friends.  I'll 
tell  Barstowe  that  you've  got  a  ripping  voice  and  sang 
that  song  well.  It'll  go  with  a  bang ! " 

"What's  the  name  you  get  called  By  at  home?"  she 
asked. 


174  Sunny  Ducrow 

"My — my  name — my  Christian  name?  Arthur,"  he 
said.  "Why?" 

"Only  wanted  to  know,"  Sunny  said.  "I  won't  keep 
you.  You're  busy."  She  nodded.  "So-long,  Arthur!" 
And  she  went  out. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A   CHARITY   CONCERT 

UNNY,  it's  awfully  good  of  you  to  come." 

"I  came  because  I  said  I  would.  I'm  going  to 
sing  my  new  song.  It's  called  Because  You  Told  Me  So. 
Not  bad!  Law!"  She  paused,  and  looked  around  her. 
"You've  got  a  nice  place,  you  have.  Do  you  rent  it  all, 
or  is  it  let  out  in  flats?" 

"Oh,  we — we  rent  it  all,"  Dobrington  said,  with  a 
smile.  "It's  my  home,  you  see! " 

"Marble  stairs  and  all!" 

Sunny  stood  in  the  immense  hallway  of  one  of  the 
most  magnificent  houses  in  London.  Blessendale  House 
was  one  of  the  most  famous;  there  was  no  royal  palace 
that  could  vie  with  it  in  grandeur. 

Sunny  looked  about  her  wide-eyed.  This  was  a 
magnificence  that  she  had  never  seen,  never  even  dreamed 
about.  The  theatres  had  seemed  wonderful  places,  but 
they  sank  into  nothingness  compared  with  this. 

"You  live  here?"  she  said. 

"Of  course;  this  is  my  home — our  London  home," 
he  said. 

The  guests  were  arriving  for  the  concert.  It  was  in 
aid  of  one  of  the  countess's  pet  charities,  and  it  was  bound 
to  be  a  great  success.  People  always  came  to  the  Bles- 
sendale concerts;  the  house  itself  was  worth  seeing. 
The  wonderful  Van  Dycks  and  Rembrandts  and  other 
old  masters  were  alone  worth  the  money.  Besides,  it 

175 


Sunny  Ducrow 

was  worth  something  to  stand  the  chance  of  getting  one's 
name  in  the  Morning  Post  next  day. 

"Reminds  me,"  Sunny  said,  "of  one  of  them  swell 
tea-rooms,  only  better.  Must  have  cost  an  awful  lot! 
I  suppose  that  t  staircase  isn't  solid  marble  all  through; 
it's  just  thin  bits  laid  on?" 

"Solid  through,"  he  said.  "And  it's  counted  one  of 
the  finest  existing." 

"Lor'!"  Sunny  said.  "Makes  you  feel  you  want  to 
take  off  your  boots  when  you  go  up  and  down." 

If  Sunny  was  looking  about  her  with  admiration,  it 
was  nothing  compared  with  the  admiration  in  his  eyes. 

"I'm  glad  you've  come,"  he  said. 

"So  am  I!     I'm  glad,  too,  I  put  on  my  best  dress." 

"You  look  ripping!"  he  said. 

She  laughed. 

"I  suppose  you've  got  tidy-sized  rooms  here?"  she 
said. 

"Quite  a  fair  size,"  he  said.  "The  concert  is  to  be 
held  in  the  ballroom." 

"  Got  a  ballroom,  too,  and  a  billiard-room,  I  dare  say?" 
Sunny  said. 

"Yes." 

"Bathroom,  hot  and  cold  laid  on?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh.  "Several,  I  believe. 
Sunny,  here  is  my  mother.  I  would  like  to  introduce 
you."  There  was  just  a  note  of  indecision  in  his  voice. 

Her  ladyship  was  sailing  down  the  staircase.  She 
was  a  tall,  very  handsome,  white-haired  woman.  Her 
face,  with  its  perfectly  regular  and  still  very  beautiful 
features,  wore  an  expression  of  intense  pride  mingled 
with  a  sort  of  kindliness. 

Sunny  stared  at  her. 

"  Must  have  been  nice-looking  when  she  was  young," 
she  said.  "She's  nice-looking  now  for  an  old  lady." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
SUNNY'S  SUCCESS 

HER  ladyship  was  greeting  one  or  two  personal 
friends.  Sunny  watched  her.  Her  keen,  intel- 
ligent eyes  took  in  almost  every  movement  of  the  aristo- 
cratic dame.  She  noted  just  how  she  shook  hands,  just 
the  kind  of  bow  she  gave.  Sunny  stored  it  all  up  in  her 
brain  for  future  use. 

"It's  the  best  thing  to  get  it  off  first  hand,"  she  said; 
"see  how  it's  done  and  then  copy." 

A  stout,  elderly  lady  was  introducing  a  young  girl  to 
her  ladyship.  Sunny  watched  it  all,  spellbound.  She 
saw  the  courtly  bow  of  the  elderly  lady,  the  curtsy  of 
the  younger.  They  did  not  shake  hands,  Sunny  noticed, 
nor  did  they  say,  "Glad  to  see  you!  Hope  you  are 
well!"  or  anything  of  the  kind. 

"It's  a  licker!"  Sunny  muttered.  "Sort  of  want  of 
friendliness  about  it.  Come  to  that,  we're  all  Adam's 
children,  ain't  we?" 

"I  often  think  that,"  Dobrington  said.  "Sunny,  will 
you  come  and  be  introduced  to  my  mother?" 

"I  don't  mind,"  she  said. 

Dobrington  looked  just  a  little  nervous.  He  wanted 
Sunny  to  make  a  good  impression;  he  wanted  it  more 
than  perhaps  he  would  care  to  admit  even  to  him- 
self. 

He  piloted  Sunny  across  the  wide  hall  to  the  foot  of 
the  magnificent  marble  staircase. 
"  177 


178  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Mother,  I  wish  to  introduce  Miss  Ducrow,  who  is 
kindly  singing  for  us  this  afternoon." 

Sunny  was  just  going  to  thrust  out  her  hand,  but  she 
remembered  what  she  had  seen. 

"How  are  you?  I  hope  you  are  well!"  was  on  the 
tip  of  her  tongue,  but  she  silenced  it.  She  dropped  a 
curtsy  and  did  it  very  gracefully. 

"I  am  very  pleased  to  meet  Miss  Ducrow,"  her  lady- 
ship said.  She  gave  Sunny  a  smile.  "And  I  wish  to 
thank  her  for  her  kindness  in  singing  for  us  to-day." 

"Don't  you  talk  about  it!"  Sunny  gasped.  "That's 
all  right!  Only — "  She  paused. 

Her  ladyship  had  turned  away  to  greet  other  arrivals. 

"Phew!"  Sunny  muttered.  "Made  me  feel  hot  all 
over!  My  tongue  got  away  with  me  as  usual!" 

Dobrington  laughed.  It  had  gone  off  better,  far 
better  than  he  had  dared  to  hope. 

"Come  on!"  he  said.  "I'll  show  you  round  the 
house  a  bit  till  the  performance  begins,  if  you  like." 

They  went  from  room  to  room,  and  Sunny's  eyes 
opened  wider  and  wider. 

"The  rent  must  be  terrible!"  she  said.  "And  what 
about  the  rates?" 

"  We  don't  pay  rent ;  it  belongs  to  us,"  he  said.  "  It's 
been  in  the  family  for  centuries.  But  the  taxes,  I  dare 
say  they  are,  as  you  say,  a  bit  thick.  Here's  the  ball- 
room. Quite  a  crowd,  isn't  there?" 

Sunny  looked  in.     She  saw  a  multitude  of  people. 

"  And — and  I  have  got  to  sing  to  that  lot  ? "  she  gasped. 

"Yes;  and  you  can  do  it,  Sunny,"  he  said.  "You  can 
do  anything  you  want  to  do." 

"B etcher  I  can!"  Sunny  said;  but  her  voice  was  a 
little  uncertain.  It  was  one  thing  to  sing  in  a  theatre, 
behind  footlights,  dressed  in  unconventional  clothes,  but 
it  was  quite  another  to  ascend  a  platform  just  as  she  was 


Sunny 's  Success  179 

and  sing  to  the  crowd  of  well-dressed  and,  no  doubt, 
critical  people.  "Sunny,  hold  your  head  up,  my  girl, 
and  keep  smiling!"  she  muttered  in  a  low  voice. 

"What  did  you  say?"  Dobrington  asked.  "I  didn't 
quite  catch  what  you  said." 

"Nothing  much;  only  something  that  I'm  always 
saying  to  myself — something  that  helps  me  a  bit,"  she 
said. 

"Tell  me;  it  might  help  me." 

Sunny  repeated  her  motto  gravely. 

"And  a  jolly  good  motto!  I'll  remember  it  and  keep 
smiling,  Sunny,"  he  said.  "Now,  hush!  They  are 
going  to  start." 

Lady  Blessendale  had  attracted  some  of  the  finest 
singers  in  London  to  her  charity  concert.  The  pro- 
gramme was  opened  by  a  well-known  young  concert 
singer,  who  received  some  dignified  applause  from  the 
audience.  She  was  followed  by  a  stout,  rather  hand- 
some, though  somewhat  passee  lady,  who  was  received 
with  applause  when  she  stepped  on  to  the  platform. 

She  was  a  well-known  star.  In  her  day  she  had  been 
the  queen  of  grand  opera.  Her  fame  still  clung  to  her, 
and  so  did  her  voice.  It  was  certainly  a  magnificent 
voice. 

Sunny  listened,  and  looked  on  in  frank  wonderment. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  the  very  furniture  danced  when 
the  great  singer  produced  her  top  notes.  She  sang  in 
Italian,  of  course.  All  great  singers  do. 

"Well,  she's  a  wonder,  she  is!"  Sunny  muttered. 
"  Her  voice  just  goes  through  you  and  comes  out  on  the 
other  side,  don't  it?" 

Dobrington  nodded. 

"She  is  a  great  singer,"  he  said. 

"Reminds  me  of  Mother  Jacalini,  her  as  used  to  live 
on  the  floor  just  below  us,"  Sunny  said.  "She  used  to 


i8o  Sunny  Ducrow 

go  out  with  a  tambourine  and  a  monkey,  and  her  hus- 
band had  an  ice-cream  round.  She  talked  just  like  that, 
she  did.  Chee  puchy  wuchy  ami  jami  jam,  and  like 
that!  French,  I  suppose  it  is?" 

Dobrington  smiled. 

" Italian!"  he  said. 

"  I  knew  it  was  something  funny,"  Sunny  said.  "  Why 
don't  she  sing  in  English?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said. 

"Me  neither!" 

The  great  singer  had  concluded.  She  had  received 
very  considerable  applause.  Being  very  well  bred,  the 
audience  did  not  allow  its  feelings  to  get  the  better  of  it. 
It  clapped  and  said,  "Bravo!  encore!"  in  a  genteel 
fashion. 

Sunny  thumped  her  hands  together. 

"Bravo!  angcore!"  she  shouted  in  her  shrill  voice. 
"Well  sung!  Jolly  well  sung,  that  was;  let's  have  some 
more!  Let's " 

She  paused.  People  had  turned  to  stare  at  her.  Even 
the  "star"  was  looking  in  her  direction. 

Dobrington  caught  her  by  the  arm. 

"Hush!"  he  whispered. 

"Then  why  don't  they  let  go? "  Sunny  said.  " I  can't 
stand  that  half-hearted  sort  of  thing.  If  they  like  her 
singing,  why  don't  they  tell  her  so  and  let's  have  some 
more?  I  s'pose  it's  different  here  to  what  it  is  our  way. 
I'll  learn  in  time,  I  s'pose."  She  sighed.  "I  see  what 
you  got  to  do.  Just  got  to  tap  the  ends  of  your  fingers 
together  and  say  'Brayvo!'  under  your  breath  like  you 
was  ashamed  of—  Oh,  oh!"  She  gasped. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"I  just  remembered  I  got  to  sing."  She  shivered. 
" It'll  give  me  the  horrors  singing  here!  They  are  a  cold 
lot,  ain't  they?  Got  no  move  on  them!" 


Sunny's  Success  181 

"Don't  worry  about  them,  Sunny,"  he  said.  "Just 
sing  to  me.  Remember  I  am  here,  and  that  I  shall  be 
listening  to  you  and  liking  every  moment  of  it." 

She  slipped  her  hand  into  his. 

"You've  got  the  knack  of  helping  a  person,  you  have. 
You  say  just  the  right  thing.  That  comes  of  being  clever 
and  well  educated,  that  does." 

"It  comes  of  nothing  of  the  sort!"  he  said.  "It 
comes  of — of" — he  looked  down  at  her,  then  he  flushed 
a  little — "it  comes  of  liking  you,  Sunny!"  he  whispered. 

"Same  here,"  she  said.  "I  like  you.  We  are  pals, 
we  are!  And  now  I  am  next,  ain't  I?"  She  shuddered 
a  little,  then  laughed.  "I  shan't  be  frightened,  not  me! 
Anyhow,  they  can't  kill  me.  Law,  wouldn't  I  like  to 
see  'em  wake  up  and  git  to  be  a  bit  human!  But  I 
s'pose  they  are  too  swell  for  that." 

A  fine  baritone  was  singing  now.  Dobrington  had 
taken  Sunny  to  the  door  of  the  dressing-room  and  left 
her  there;  but  Sunny  forgot  that  she  had  to  hasten  for 
her  own  appearance. 

The  baritone  had  a  beautiful  voice,  and  he  was  sing- 
ing a  beautiful  song,  and  music  was  a  passion  to  Sunny. 
She  stayed  there  at  the  door  listening,  with  all  her  heart 
and  soul  in  her  eyes.  She  stayed  there  until  he  had 
finished  and  left  the  platform.  Then  she  remembered 
it  was  her  own  turn.  Sunny  dashed  into  the  dressing- 
room  and  tore  off  her  hat.  Her  hair  was  fearfully  untidy, 
as  she  realized.  She  did  her  best  with  it.  Outside 
there  was  an  ominous  silence. 

"Miss  Ducrow,  are  you  not  ready? 

"Half  a  minit!"  Sunny  gasped.  "Law,  what  do  I 
look  like?  As  if  I  had  been  dragged  through  a  hedge 
backwards,  don't  I?  Where's  my  song?  Oh,  goodness, 
I've  put  it  down  somewhere  and —  Oh,  here  it  is ! " 

A    commoner,    more    human   audience   would    have 


1 82  Sunny  Ducrow 

stamped  and  uttered  cat-calls  to  express  its  displeasure 
at  being  kept  waiting.  This  audience  sat  in  stony 
silence,  with  marked  disapproval  on  its  high-bred  face. 

Flushed,  ruffled,  untidy  about  her  hair,  a  little  out  of 
breath,  Sunny  bounded  on  to  the  platform.  She  looked 
about  her.  The  chill  atmosphere  of  the  place  affected 
her.  She  had  kept  them  waiting  perhaps  ten  minutes, 
and  she  was  sorry  for  it. 

As  she  was  sorry,  why  not  tell  them  so?  An  idea  no 
sooner  came  into  Sunny 's  brain  than  she  acted  on  it. 
She  handed  the  copy  of  the  song  to  the  accompanist. 

"Half  a  minit,"  she  whispered.  "I've  got  to  say 
something  to  them  first." 

"Say  something? "     He  looked  up.     "Why ? " 

"That's  all  right!"  Sunny  muttered.  She  turned  to 
the  audience.  "  I'm  sorry  at  having  kept  you,"  she  said. 
"I  know  I  didn't  ought  to,  only  it  was  that  chap's  sing- 
ing. I  couldn't  help  listening.  He'd  got  a  beautiful 
voice,  hadn't  he?  Well,  instead  of  getting  on,  and  mak- 
ing myself  tidy,  I  simply  had  to  stand  there  listening  to 
him.  But  I'm  sorry  all  the  same,  keeping  you  waiting!" 

She  smiled  on  them  all,  showing  her  white  teeth. 

Some  of  the  elderly  dowagers  looked  at  one  another 
in  surprise.  Really,  what  new  innovation  was  this? 
Some  caught  the  contagion  of  Sunny's  smile,  and  smiled 
back  at  her.  She  looked  such  a  child — such  a  flushed, 
rather  anxious,  pretty,  red-haired  child.  There  was 
something  irresistible  about  her. 

"So,  if  you'll  forgive  me,"  Sunny  said,  "now  we'll 
get  on  with  it."  She  nodded  to  them,  in  her  frank, 
friendly  way,  then  turned  to  the  accompanist.  "Strike 
up,  Mr.  Conductor,"  she  said.  "I'm  ready  now." 

Sunny's  song  was  not  in  the  least  like  those  that  had 
gone  before.  It  did  not  bear  the  slightest  resemblance, 
for  instance,  to  the  aria  that  Madame  Pavilini  had  sung 


Sunny's  Success  183 

with  such  success.  But  it  suited  Sunny;  she  let  herself 
go. 

"What  they  want  is  waking  up,"  she  thought;  and 
she  made  up  her  mind  she  would  try  and  wake  them  up. 

She  knew  nothing  of  concert-platform  manners.  She 
did  not  stand  with  a  sheet  of  music  in  her  hand,  held 
out  at  arm's  length,  and  turn  her  eyes  up  to  the  richly 
carved  ceiling.  As  she  knew  the  song  thoroughly,  she 
did  not  want  any  music  sheet  at  all,  so  she  dispensed 
with  it. 

She  looked  straight  at  her  audience  and  smiled  at  it. 
She  smiled  until  the  ghost  of  a  frosty  smile  began  to 
dawn  on  some  of  the  faces  of  the  highest-born  and  chilliest 
dowagers  there. 

It  was  a  charming  little  song,  full  of  tuneful  melody, 
and  Sunny  sang  it  in  a  very  charming,  fresh,  and  original 
manner.  It  was  such  a  change  after  what  had  gone 
before.  Of  course  her  voice  did  not  compare  with  some 
of  the  other  voices,  but  her  personality  told,  her  smile 
told,  her  freshness  and  her  youth  told. 

The  younger  ones  among  the  audience  applauded  her 
heartily.  The  elder  ones  tried  to  look  a  little  shocked, 
but  failed;  then  they  applauded  her,  too.  Sunny  got 
even  more  applause  than  the  great  Italian  singer,  and 
it  was  of  a  heartier,  more  spontaneous  nature. 

"I  said  I'd  wake  'em  up!"  she  muttered  to  herself. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

NEW   FRIENDS 

MR.  CURTISS,  the  irreproachably  dressed  and  un- 
approachable young  man,  stood  in  the  wings.  It 
was  the  first  night  of  the  new  revue,  and  Sunny  Ducrow 
was  singing  her  song.  It  was  not  often  that  Curtiss 
troubled  himself  to  witness  a  performance.  His  duty 
and  his  work  lay  in  preparing  for  and  attending  to  the 
business  side  of  things.  The  rest  could  be  safely  left  to 
the  acting-manager  and  the  stage-manager;  but  Curtiss 
stood  in  the  wings  and  watched  Sunny. 

He  wondered  a  little  at  the  charm  of  the  girl.  He  was 
not  enthusiastic.  He  had  seen  many  newcomers  and  he 
had  also  seen  them  go.  There  had  been  few  successes 
and  many  failures.  He  had  grown  to  regard  every 
newcomer  as  a  potential  failure. 

But  this  song  of  Sunny  Ducrow's  was  something 
different  from  the  usual  run  of  lovesick  lyrics.  It  was  a 
song  of  home  and  mother,  and  Mr.  Curtiss,  moved  by 
something  that  he  could  not  very  well  explain,  had 
decided  to  give  Sunny  rather  an  exceptional  chance.  He 
had  had  a  stage  setting  expressly  arranged  for  her.  In 
the  background  was  a  little  cottage,  the  landscape  lost 
in  a  dim,  grayish  darkness.  The  stage  was  in  dark- 
ness; Sunny 's  little  figure  was  thrown  into  relief  by 
one  ray  of  light.  It  was  effective,  very,  and  so  was  the 
song. 

They  were  old-fashioned  words,  cut  out  of  an  Early 

184 


New  Friends  185 

Victorian  album.     Nothing  great  in  the  way  of  poetry, 
but  simple  and  touching: 

"I  have  tried,  I  have  hoped,  I  have  failed, 

My  way  has  been  weary  and  lone. 
I  have  longed  for  the  rest  and  the  peace  on  your  breast, 

In  my  own  little,  dear  cottage  home. 
Its  windows,  like  stars  in  the  night, 

Are  beacons  to  welcome  me  home, 
And  the  smile  I  can  see  is  in  welcome  for  me 

As  I'm  nearing  my  wee  cottage  home." 

She  was  singing  it  with  all  her  heart  in  her  voice.  Her 
sweet,  childlike  voice  trembled  and  shook,  and  Mr. 
Arthur  Curtiss,  who  had  long  since  believed  himself 
proof  against  anything  of  the  kind,  blinked  hard. 

"Fool!"  he  muttered.  "Clever  little  wretch,  that's 
what  she  is!  George,  she'll  do!  She'll  do!  I  wish 
Barstowe  could  hear  her!  I'll  try  to  get  him  to,  one 
night!" 

But  that,  as  Curtiss  knew,  was  almost  an  impossible 
thing. 

As  Sunny  neared  the  end  of  her  song  the  scenic  effects 
came  into  play.  The  little  cottage  grew  in  relief  against 
the  dark  background;  lights  suddenly  sprang  up  in  the 
windows.  The  last  note  died  away;  the  cottage  door 
opened — a  warm,  yellow  light  streamed  out.  In  the 
doorway  appeared  the  figure  of  an  old  woman,  standing 
with  outstretched  arms.  With  a  sob  the  girl  turned  to 
her,  holding  out  her  arms,  then  suddenly  all  was  blacked 
out. 

It  was  effective,  very,  from  the  audience's  point  of 
view.  The  scng  and  the  singer  moved  them  all.  Then 
came  a  hurrican^  of  applause  from  every  part  of  the  house. 

' ' George ! ' '  Curtiss  muttered.  "It's  taken. — gone  with 
a  bang!  Big  success!"  He  blinked.  "Clever  little 
wretch!" 


1 86  Sunny  Ducrow 

He  turned  away  and  went  to  Mr.  Barstowe's  private 
office. 

Barstowe  was  always  in  his  private  office  on  a  first 
night,  but  he  was  not  there  now.  Curtiss  knocked  and 
knocked  again;  then  he  opened  the  door  and  went  in. 
Barstowe  was  not  there.  Odd  that  Barstowe  was  not 
there,  Curtiss  thought,  as  he  shut  the  door. 

He  turned,  and  Mr.  Barstowe  came  into  the  outer 
office.  His  hard,  strong  face  was  as  impassive  as  ever. 

"  I've  been  to  the  front, "  he  said  briefly. 

' '  You — you  have,  sir  ? " 

"Yes;  I  was  curious  to  hear  that  girl.  Well,  you 
heard  her?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well?"  Barstowe  said,  with  a  heavy  frown.  "Good, 
eh?" 

"Splendid!  You  heard  how  it  went — a  big  number 
that!" 

Barstowe  nodded. 

"What  term  is  her  engagement?  Six  months,  isn't 
it?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"See  her  in  the  morning;  book  her  here  for  three 
years,  to  start  at  ten  pounds  a  week,  increasing  five 
pounds  each  year,  making  the  last  year  twenty  pounds 
a  week.  Understand  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  sir.  Very  good.  I  think  it's  a  wise  move. 
She  looks  like  being " 

But  Barstowe  had  gone  in  and  closed  the  door  of  his 
office  after  him. 

"Fancy  the  old  man  going  to  the  front  to  hear  a  new 
hand ! ' '  Curtiss  thought.  ' '  Glad  he  did,  though ! ' ' 

Except  for  the  girls  of  the  chorus,  who  were  inclined 
to  be  spiteful  and  jealous,  they  were  a  good-natured  lot 
at  the  Realm.  Sunny  came  in  for  a  shower  of  congrat- 


New  Friends  187 

illations  and  handshakes.  Miss  Esme  Ward,  the  leading 
lady,  kissed  her  warmly. 

"You  sang  it  beautifully,  dear! "  she  said.  "And  it's  a 
lovely  little  song !  You  almost  made  me  cry,  and  that's 
saying  a  lot,  because  I  got  beyond  that  stage  years  ago. " 

"No,  you  ain't, "  Sunny  said.  She  looked  up  into  the 
woman's  pretty,  rather  tired-looking  face.  "You  won't 
get  beyond  the  crying  stage;  no  good  woman  ever  does!" 

"Good  woman;  but " 

"You're  that!"  Sunny  said.  She  reached  up  her  arms 
and  drew  the  woman's  face  to  hers.  "Never  forget  how 
to  cry,"  she  said.  "It — it  helps — that  and  smiling!" 
She  laughed  gently.  "That's  what  I  always  say  to  my- 
self. 'Hold  up  your  head,  Sunny  Ducrow,  and  keep 
smiling,  and  everything's  bound  to  come  right  in  the 
end.'" 

"I  believe  you  are  right,  dear,"  Miss  Ward  said. 
"You're  a  good  little  thing,  Sunny  Ducrow,  and  I've 
fallen  in  love  with  you.  And  I'm  not  the  only  one  either; 
I  know  someone  else  who  has." 

"Fell  in  love  with  me?" 

Miss  Ward  nodded. 

"Arthur  Curtiss  has,  I  believe.  He  was  standing  in 
the  wings  all  through  your  song.  I  never  saw  him  do  it 
before;  and  he  was  looking  at  you — well,  just  as  a  man 
looks —  You  don't  understand,  though;  you're  only  a 
baby!  There,  good  luck  to  you,  and  many,  many  more 
successes — bigger  ones  than  this!" 

"Thank  you!"  Sunny  said  quietly.  "You're  good  to 
me.  Most  people  are  good  to  me.  I  wonder  why, 
sometimes." 

" I'll  tell  you  why;  it  is  just  because  you  are — Sunny, " 
the  woman  said. 

"Mr.  Curtiss  would  like  to  see  Miss  Ducrow  if  she 
would  be  so  good  as  to  spare  him  a  few  moments ! " 


1 88  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Oh!"  Sunny  said.  She  sighed.  "I  wonder  if  he's 
got  the  carpet  laid  down  for  me  to  walk  over  and  got  a 
band  playing?  'If  she'll  be  so  good  as  to  spare  a  few 
moments! '  My  word,  I'm  getting  on!" 

She  laughed  to  herself. 

"Tell  him  all  right, "  she  said  to  the  messenger. 

She  was  dressed.  The  first  night  was  over,  and  a  great 
success  it  had  been,  and  not  the  meanest  success  had  been 
Sunny's  simple  little  song  of  home  and  mother  and  love. 

Sunny,  with  her  hat  on,  and  ready  to  go  out,  came  out 
of  the  dressing-room  that  she  shared  with  two  others. 

Outside  she  met  one  of  the  chorus-girls,  a  girl  who  had 
sneered  at  her  and  looked  down  on  her;  and  shown  her 
petty  spite  in  a  dozen  different  ways  since  Sunny  had 
come.  Miss  Evelyn  Clifforde  stood  still  in  the  narrow 
passage.  She  stared  hard  at  Sunny,  then  suddenly  she 
held  out  her  hand. 

"I — I  hated  you,"  she  said — "hated  you  like  poison 
for  coming  in  and  walking  over  our  heads !  I  don't  hate 
you  now ;  I  like  you  and  admire  you.  I  loved  your  song 
and  the  way  you  sang  it."  She  paused.  "I  suppose  I'm 
a  fool  to  lower  myself  to  talk  to  you  like  this;  it  gives  you 
the  laugh  over  me!" 

"What  does?"  Sunny  said.  "I  don't  want  to  laugh; 
I  feel  more  like  crying.  I  don't  know  why  you  hate  me. 
I  never  hated  you.  I  thought  you  were  beautiful,  and  so 
you  are,  and " 

She  took  the  other  girl's  outstretched  hand  tightly  and 
held  up  her  face  for  a  kiss. 

"You  are  a  dear  little  thing!"  Miss  Clifforde  said. 
"  I've  been  a  beast,  and  so  have  some  of  the  others.  One 
thing,  however,  all  our  snubs  and  sneers  did  not  seem  to 
hurt  you." 

"Didn't  seem,"  Sunny  said.  "I  don't  know.  I'm 
always  hurt  a  bit  when  I  see  people  don't  like  me.  But — • 


New  Friends  189 

but  I  just  go  on,  hold  up  my  head,  you  know,  and  keep  on 
smiling.  It's  the  only  way." 

"It's  the  best  way,  if— if  only  one  can  do  it,"  the 
other  girl  said. 

She  looked  down  at  Sunny  from  her  superior  height 
and  her  eyes  grew  softer. 

" I  had  a  little  sister, "  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "about 
your  age,  and  not  unlike  you.  Perhaps  I  hated  you  be- 
cause you  reminded  me  of  her.  She  was  all  that  I  had— 
the  only  thing  in  the  world  that  belonged  to  me,  and  the 
only  thing  that  really  cared!" 

Sunny  gripped  the  girl's  hand  tightly. 

"And — and  she — she  died?"  she  whispered. 

The  other  nodded. 

"And — and  since  then  there's  nothing  that  I  care  for. 
I  can't  keep  smiling  because  there's  nothing  to  smile  at 
in  this  world."  She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "I'm  a 
fool  to  tell  you.  Why  should  you  care?" 

"But — but  I  do  care,  I  do  care!"  Sunny  said. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

A   FRIEND   INDEED 

'  I  'HE  frozen  look  on  the  other  girl's  face  thawed  a  little; 
•»•  something  like  tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

"That  song  of  yours  about  home  and  rest  and — and 
mother,  it  hurt  me, "  she  said.  "  It  reminded  me  of  the 
time  when  they  all  belonged  to  me.  Now  I  live  in 
lodgings  alone,  I  have  two  pounds  a  week  to  live  on,  and 
if  I  died  to-morrow  no  one  would  care.  Oh,  I'm  a  fool 
to  tell  you!" 

"You  aren't, "  Sunny  said.  She  put  her  arms  around 
the  girl.  "Me  and  you  are  going  to  be  friends, ' '  she  said. 
"I'm  going  to  try  to  help  you  just  a  bit,  like  your  own 
sister  would  have  done.  I  can't  be  to  you  what  she  was 
and  would  have  been,  but  I  might  be  something,  mightn't 
I?" 

She  looked  up  into  the  girl's  face. 

Miss  Cliff orde  stooped.  She  kissed  Sunny  almost 
savagely  and  turned  away  without  a  word. 

And  that  was  the  beginning  of  it;  and  neither  Miss 
Clifforde  nor  Sunny  realized  or  dreamed  at  that  moment 
just  how  much  Sunny  was  going  to  help  her  in  the  near 
future. 

"Sorry  to  keep  you,  Miss  Ducrow." 
Arthur  Curtiss  was  standing;  he  put  a  chair  for  Sunny. 
Sunny  smiled ;  she  noticed  the  difference.     Everything 
was  getting  to  be  different. 

190 


A  Friend  Indeed  191 

"You  ain't  keeping  me  very  particularly, "  she  said. 

"Mr.  Barstowe  was  in  the  front  to-night  for  your 
song." 

He  said  it  as  if  he  was  uttering  some  news  that  would 
prostrate  Sunny  with  amazement  and  joy;  it  did  nothing 
of  the  kind. 

"Well,  seeing  he  pays,  he's  got  the  right  to  hear  how 
it  goes,  I  suppose." 

"You  don't  seem  to  realize  that  Mr.  Barstowe  never 
goes  to  hear  even  the  most  highly  paid  artistes ! ' '  Curtiss 
said. 

"  I  would  if  I  was  him, "  Sunny  said,  "then  he  can  find 
out  if  they  are  worth  the  money." 

"Mr.  Barstowe  was  very  favorably  impressed  with 
your  song,  Miss  Ducrow." 

"I  thought  me  and  you  was  friends,  Arthur?"  she 
said. 

"Quite  right!  I  forgot,  Sunny;  but  this  is  a  matter  of 
business,"  he  said.  He  sat  down  and  smiled  at  her. 
"Mr.  Barstowe  has,  through  me,  offered  you  an  engage- 
ment on  new  terms.  The  old  engagement  was  for  six 
months  only  at  six  pounds  a  week,  I  believe?" 

"That's  right!"  Sunny  said. 

"Well,  he  proposes  a  three  years'  engagement,  to 
commence  from  to-day.  The  first  year  at  ten  pounds  a 
week,  the  second  at  fifteen,  and  the  third  at  twenty.  It's 
a  big  lift  up  for  you,  and  I  congratulate  you,  Sunny!" 
He  held  out  his  hand. 

"Half  a  minit!"  Sunny  said.  "Three  years  is  a  long 
time." 

"All  the  better  for  you,  and  you  have  an  assured 
income  for  that  period.  Why,  good  heavens,  surely  you 
don't  hesitate?  I  am  offering  you  an  immediate  ten 
pounds  a  week  instead  of  six!" 

"I— I  know,"  Sunny  said  thoughtfully.     "But  three 


i92  Sunny  Ducrow 

years  is  a  long  time,  isn't  it?  I  don't  say  I'll  be  worth 
any  more,  but  I'm  going  to  try  to  be.  I'd  like  to 
think  it  over." 

"Think  it  over!  Why — "  He  stared  at  her  in 
astonishment.  He  had  believed  that  she  would  jump 
at  the  chance,  and  here  was  she  talking  of  thinking  it 
over! 

"I'll  have  to  talk  to  myself  about  it,"  Sunny  said. 
"You  see" — she  smiled — "I've  got  to  talk  to  myself, 
because  I've  not  got  anyone  else  to  talk  to.  I'll  just  have 
a  chat  with  Sunny  Ducrow  about  it  to-night,  Arthur,  and 
let  you  know  in  the  morning.  Only  I  don't  think  I'll 
take  it.  I  don't  want  to  tie  myself  up  for  no  three  years. 
I've  got  an  idea  of  things  I  want  to  do  presently.  Be- 
sides, there's  Bert!" 

"Bert?  "he  said.     "Who's  Bert?" 

"He's  my  friend,  Bert  is.  He  was  in  the  pickles  with 
me.  We  started  on  the  stage  together,  and  Bert's  a  bit 
lonely,  me  playing  at  one  house  and  him  at  another.  I'll 
have  a  talk  with  Bert,  too,  and  see  what  he  says."  She 
rose  and  held  out  her  hand.  "And  thank  you  all  the 
same, "  she  said. 

" It's  a  good  offer, "  he  said,  "and  Barstowe's  ' Realms' 
are  in  the  front.  A  good  many  would  give  something  for 
such  a  chance." 

"I  know,"  Sunny  said.  "So-long,  Arthur!"  And 
she  went  out. 

"What  the  dickens  does  that  girl  want?"  he  thought. 

Sunny  knew  perfectly  well  what  she  wanted.  She 
wanted  to  get  on.  She  wanted  to  make  a  success — some- 
thing unusual,  something  brilliant.  Money  was  useful,  of 
course,  and  money  would  come  with  success.  But 
money  weighed  less  with  her  than  anything  else. 

"Me  and  Bert  has  got  to  get  that  play  written,"  she 
thought.  "And  I'm  going  to  play  the  heroine.  I'll 


A  Friend  Indeed  193 

show  'em  all  I  can  do  something  else  besides  singing  songs 
in  revues.  Three  years!  No."  She  shook  her  curly 
head.  "Three  years  is  a  long  time;  still,  it's  nice  to 
have  it  offered." 

She  lay  awake  for  a  long  time,  that  night,  thinking  it 
out — weighing  the  advantages  with  the  disadvantages. 

"  I'll  see  what  Bert  says, "  she  decided  at  last,  and  then 
went  to  sleep. 

Bert  Jackson  was  making  a  success,  against  his  will 
and  against  his  inclinations.  He  was  beginning  to  realize 
that  the  audience  liked  him,  and  he  wondered  why.  He 
felt  a  great  contempt  for  the  audience  that  could  see 
anything  to  laugh  at  in  himself. 

"  I  don't  see  nothing  to  laugh  at,  I  don't.  They  never 
laughed  at  me  at  the  pickles,  and  I  was  just  the  same, " 
he  thought. 

"  That's  a  good  line  you've  taken  up,  Jackson;  stick  to 
it!"  the  stage-manager  said  to  him. 

"I  don't  know  as  I've  taken  up  any  line, "  Bert  said. 

"  I  mean  your  miserable,  wretched  mug.  It  makes  the 
audience  shriek.  They  like  it;  keep  it  up  and  you'll 
make  a  future.  Never  smile.  Smile  once  and  you're 
done  for  ever!" 

"He's  barmey!"  Bert  thought.  "Smile  once  and  I'm 
done  for  ever!  What's  Sunny  say  about  holding  my 
head  up  and  keeping  on  smiling?  What's  a  chap  to  do? 
First  one  thing  and  then  another!" 

Early  the  following  morning  Bert  called  at  Sunny's 
lodgings.  It  was  the  usual  thing.  Sunny  was  taking  her 
lessons,  and  Bert  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  a  chair  and 
listened. 

Sunny  was  a  never-ending  source  of  wonder  to  him. 
He  wondered  why  she,  or  any  other  sane  girl,  wanted  to 
take  lessons;   he  did  not.     He  hated  lessons;   Sunny 
seemed  to  like  them. 
13 


194  Sunny  Ducrow 

"And  the  talk  she  can  put  on  if  she  likes!"  Bert 
thought  wonderingly.  "Like  any  lady!" 

Sunny  was  free  at  last,  and  she  turned  to  Bert. 

"Well,  old  dear,"  she  asked,  "how  are  you?" 

"Same  as  yesterday,"  he  said,  "same  as  to-day  and 
to-morrow.  There's  never  no  difference  with  me." 

"What  about  the  play?"  Sunny  asked. 

He  brought  out  some  folded  sheets  from  his  pocket. 

'I've  written  it  down;  not  properly,  but  just " 

"  Sketched  it  out  ? "  she  said.     ' '  That 's  fine ! ' ' 

She  took  it  from  him  and  read  it  intently  Here  and 
there  she  made  a  note  with  a  pencil;  she  saw  situations 
that  he  had  not  seen. 

"We'll  write  it  together,  Bert,"  she  said  enthusiastic- 
ally. "  When  will  we  make  a  start  ?" 

"I  don't  care!"  he  said.     "Any  time.     Why?" 

She  turned  round  and  faced  him.  She  told  him  about 
the  suggested  engagement. 

"  If  I  take  it  on,  good-bye  to  the  play  for  three  years!" 
she  said. 

"Then  it  wouldn't  be  no  good  writing  it, "  he  said. 

"But  that's  just  what  we  are  going  to  do — write  it!" 
she  said.  "And  I  ain't  going  to  take  this  engagement." 

"Not — not  ten  pounds  a  week?" 

"Not  as  you  could  notice,"  she  said.  "Not  me,  Bert 
dear! "  She  tapped  the  paper.  "You  and  me  are  going 
to  write  the  play,  then  at  the  end  of  six  months  I'll  go  to 
Barstowe — I'll  tell  him.  I'll  say  to  him,  'Give  us  a 
chance  in  your  hall  with  it.'  I'll  bet  he  does ! " 

"And  I'll  bet  he  doesn't!"  Bert  said. 

"  B etcher !"  Sunny  said. 

"A  bob  then!"  Bert  said. 

She  held  out  her  hand. 

"  It's  a  bet,  Bert !     Betcher  he  does ! " 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

NO  FOOL 

4"V/OU'RE  a  wicked,  ungrateful  girl,  that's  what  you 

I  are ! ' '  Mrs.  Melkin  said  feelingly.  ' '  'Ere,  after  me 
toiling  and  moiling,  as  the  saying  is,  all  my  life,  just  to 
get  you  on,  me  fretting  and  fuming,  worrying  myself  and 
wondering  what  was  best  to  do  for  you,  and  looking  on 
you  like  you  was  my  own  child " 

"What's  the  matter?"  Sunny  asked. 

"I'm  telling  you,  aren't  I?  And  don't  interrupt  your 
elders  and  your  betters  and  pastors  and  masters,  as  the 
saying  is,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said.  She  held  up  a  quivering 
hand.  "What  I  am  saying,  Elizabeth  Ann  Ducrow,  is 
this.  After  me  watching  over  you  and  'elping  you  as  I 
done,  and  looking  after  you  and  everything,  you  with 
your  nasty,  'oarding  ways!  That's  what  I  said,  and  I 
say  it  again — your  nasty,  'oarding  ways,  and  begrudging 
me  every  bite  almost  as  I  put  between  my  lips,  to  say 
nothing  of — of — of ' ' 

' '  Lizzie ! ' '  Sunny  said.  ' '  And  that  ain't  true.  I  know 
you  want  your  bit  of  comfort  as  well  as  anyone." 

"'Ere  are  you  getting  pounds  and  pounds  a  week," 
Mrs.  Melkin  said.  "And  but  for  me  and  the  education 
I  give  you,  you  might  be  in  the  '  pickles '  now.  'Ere  you 
are,  earning  pounds  and  pounds,  and  me  living  in  a 
wretched  'ole  like  this!" 

"Oh,  that's  it!"  Sunny  said.  "You  seem  a  long  time 
coming  to  it,  aunt.  You  don't  like  these  rooms  ? " 

195 


i96  Sunny  Ducrow 

"I  don't,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said.  "I  want  to  move. 
You've  got  a  position  to  keep  up,  Elizabeth  Ann,  now; 
so  'ave  I,  come  to  that !  Besides,  it's  due  to  me  for  all 
I  done  for  you  in  the  past." 

Sunny  knew  perfectly  well  that  it  was  not  the  slight- 
est use  to  argue  with  her  aunt.  Mrs.  Melkin  had  it 
in  her  mind  that  Sunny  owed  everything  in  life  to 
her.  But  for  her,  Sunny  would  never  have  got  on  the 
stage;  but  for  her,  Sunny  would  never  have  got  into 
the  pickle  factory;  but  for  her,  Sunny  would  be  sell- 
ing matches  or  flowers  or  something  in  the  street. 
Mrs.  Melkin,  with  tears  rolling  down  her  face,  ex- 
plained all  this  to  the  landlady,  who  came  upstairs 
now  and  again  to  sympathize  with  her  and  call  her 
"Pore  dear!" 

"And,  would  you  believe  it,  that  child  as  I've  cherished 
begrudges  me  every  drop  as  I  put  between  my  lips ! "  Mrs. 
Melkin  said. 

Sunny  tapped  her  small  foot  thoughtfully  on  the  floor. 
The  idea  to  move,  to  get  a  nice  little  flat  of  her  own,  had 
appealed  to  her  more  than  once.  But  she  had  stood  off  a 
little;  she  did  not  want  to  get  into  debt.  Debt  was  a 
thing  that  she  hated;  it  frightened  her  to  the  very  depths 
of  her  honest  little  soul. 

"I  couldn't  bear  for  people  to  be  able  to  say,  'That 
there  Sunny  Ducrow  owes  money, ' "  she  thought. 

"I've  been  thinking  about  getting  other  rooms,  aunt, " 
she  said.  "  Only  I  thought  we'd  wait  a  bit.  We're  com- 
fortable enough  here.  It  isn't  so  bad,  and  it's  cheap; 
and — and  there's  the  furniture  to  think  of." 

"There's  the  'ire, "  Mrs.  Melkin  said. 

"Not  me !"  Sunny  said  decidedly.  "  No  hire  purchase 
for  me.  When  I  gets  a  'ome  of  my  own  it's  going  to  be 
a  home  of  my  own.  I  ain't  going  to  'ave  no  tallymen 
sitting  on  my  doorstep  all  day  and  all  night,  I'm  not! 


No  Fool  197 

I'm  going  to  wait  till  I  can  pay  for  what  I  want.  And 
it  won't  be  so  long,  either!"  she  added. 

"You  could  get,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said,  "fifty  pounds' 
worth  over  two  years  for  ten  shillings  a  week;  a  'undred 
pounds'  worth  over  three  years  for " 

She  proceeded  to  quote  from  the  advertisements  she 
had  read. 

Sunny  shook  her  head. 

"It's  running  into  debt,  and  no  debt  for  me,  thanks!" 
she  said.  "In  six  months  we'll  be  able  to  buy  and  pay 
for  what  we  want,  and  for  six  months  we'll  hang  on  here, 
old  dear!" 

"You're  a  wicked,  ungrateful  girl,  that's  what  you 
are!"  Mrs.  Melkin  said. 

She  burst  into  tears,  and  rocked  herself  backwards 
and  forwards.  The  argument  always  ended  this  way. 

"A  miser  with  'er  'oarding  and  'oarding!"  Mrs.  Melkin 
groaned.  "To  think  that  I  should  ever  see  the  day ! " 

Sunny  had  started  a  small  banking  account.  The 
revue  at  the  Realm  had  been  running  for  many  weeks 
now,  and  had  been  in  every  way  a  brilliant  success. 
Sunny  refused  to  bind  herself  by  a  long  contract.  At 
the  end  of  the  six  months  she  would  be  free,  and  it 
was  quite  certain  that  if  she  wanted  to  make  a  new  con- 
tract with  Barstowe  then,  there  would  be  nothing  in  the 
way  of  it.  Her  song  had  been  a  great  success.  It  was 
the  most  tuneful  number  in  the  whole  revue.  The  'organs 
ground  it  out  at  every  street  corner.  It  was  to  be  seen 
for  sale  in  the  window  of  every  music-seller  in  the  kingdom. 
"As  sung  by  Miss  Sunny  Ducrow  at  the  London  Realm, " 
with  Sunny 's  picture,  taken  by  that  great  photographer, 
Mr.  Hurlingham,  on  the  cover. 

In  her  way,  Sunny  was  already  a  celebrity.  People 
knew  her  name;  when  anyone  spoke  of  Sunny  Ducrow, 
no  one  asked  who  she  was,  because  everyone  knew. 


198  Sunny  Ducrow 

When  she  went  out  into  the  streets,  or  got  on  to  an 
omnibus,  people  looked  at  her  and  nudged  one  another. 
"Sunny  Ducrow!"  they  muttered.  And  Sunny  was 
supremely  unconscious  of  the  admiration  and  interest  in 
their  faces.  She  went  on  her  own  way. 

But  in  one  thing  Mrs.  Melkin  was  right — Sunny  was 
hoarding.  There  was  no  doubt  about  it.  She  drew  her 
six  pounds  a  week,  and  she  regularly  put  four  pounds  of 
them  into  her  little  banking  account.  Mr.  Hurlingham 
had  paid  her  her  fees,  and  that  too  had  gone  into  the  ac- 
count. When  Sunny  had  twenty  pounds  to  her  credit, 
that  very  day  she  invited  Bert  to  a  sumptuous  tea  at  an 
Aerated  Bread  Shop.  They  had  poached  eggs  on  toast  in 
honor  of  the  occasion.  Sunny  Ducrow  had  become  a 
woman  of  property ! 

"It's  like  this  here,  Bert,"  she  said.  "It  isn't  the 
money  for  the  money's  sake,  only  there'll  come  a  time, 
I  suppose,  one  day,  when  I'll  be  old  and  not  fit  to  work. 
Then  I  don't  want  to  go  to  the  workhouse;  so  I  made 
up  my  mind  I'd  always  save  a  bit  every  week.  If  it's 
only  a  shilling,  I  mean  to  save  a  bit  and  be  on  the  right 
side.  Then  you  never  know,  do  you  ? ' ' 

Bert  shook  his  head. 

"You  never  know, "  he  said.  "  Having  a  bit  of  money 
by  you  will  save  trouble.  'Tisn't  as  if  this  here  stage 
business  is  going  to  last  for  ever.  People '11  get  sick  of 
you,  and  me  too,  come  to  that.  Supposing  me  and  you 
saves,  Sunny,  and  get  a  hundred  pounds  together" — his 
face  brightened  up  a  little — "why  shouldn't  we  start  in 
the  pickles  and  jam  line  on  our  own? " 

"  I'm  done  with  the  pickles  and  jam ! "  Sunny  said. 

And  she  meant  it;  but  she  did  not  know  what  the 
future  held  in  store  for  her. 

The  twenty  pounds  had  become  fifty.  A  wide-awake 
film  company,  realizing  that  Sunny  Ducrow  was  well 


No  Fool  199 

advanced  on  the  road  to  popularity,  made  her  an  offer  to 
have  a  film  play  written  around  her,  for  her  to  appear  in. 

It  was  Wednesday  morning  when  Sunny  got  the  letter 
from  the  Sun  Picture  Company,  and  she  thought  it  over. 

On  Wednesday  there  was  a  matinee  at  the  Realm, 
and  Sunny  could  do  nothing  in  the  matter  then.  So  she 
wrote  and  told  the  Sun  Picture  people  that  she  had 
received  their  letter  and  would  call  in  the  course  of  a 
few  days. 

At  the  Realm  Sunny  was  on  the  best  of  terms  with 
everyone;  she  was  a  general  favorite.  And  with  no  one 
was  Sunny  more  of  a  favorite  than  with  that  well-dressed 
young  man,  Mr.  Arthur  Curtiss. 

Mr.  Arthur  Curtiss  was  sitting  in  his  private  office 
when  Sunny  walked  in  unannounced.  Sunny  was  the 
only  person  who  ever  dared  to  intrude  on  Mr.  Curtiss's 
privacy. 

''Afternoon,  Arthur!"  she  said  as  she  sat  down. 

He.  smiled  at  her. 

"Good  afternoon,  Sunny;  but  I'm  busy!" 

"So  am  I;  that's  why  I've  come.  Do  you  know 
anything  about  pictures?" 

"Pictures — well — "  He  paused.  "I  don't  know. 
I'm  somewhat  of  a  judge  of  old  masters.  I've  got  a 
picture  that  experts  say  is  undoubtedly " 

"I  mean  films, "  she  said. 

"Oh,  films!" 

"How's  my  contract  stand  with  regard  to  films?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  there  is  anything  in  your  contract 
to  prevent  you  appearing  on  a  film, "  he  said.  "No,  there 
isn't.  Well?" 

"I've  had  an  offer,  that's  all!"  she  said. 

"How  much?" 

"They  don't  say;  that's  what  I  want  to  know." 

"The  fact  of  the  matter  is, "  he  said,  "I  have  a  friend, 


200  Sunny  Ducrow 

Dawson  Perkins,  who  is  interested  in  a  film  company. 
He  was  dining  with  me  last  night,  and  he  spoke  of  you." 

"What's  the  pay?"  Sunny  asked. 

Curtiss  smiled.  "I  never  knew  a  girl  so  keen  after 
the  money  as  you  are, "  he  said. 

"It  isn't  the  money — not  for  the  money's  sake.  It's 
this  way.  There's  only  me  and  my  health.  If  I  was  to 
fall  sick  I'd  be  done,  wouldn't  I?  Well,  I  want  to  have 
a  little  bit  put  by.  Besides  that,  I  want  to  get  a  home 
of  my  own;  we're  only  living  in  lodgings.  And  that  isn't 
all,  either, "  she  went  on.  "There's  other  people  I  know, 
sometimes  they  don't  get  much  luck " 

Sunny  closed  her  mouth  suddenly.  No  one  knew, 
not  even  Mrs.  Melkin,  of  certain  little  charities  that 
Sunny  had  interested  herself  in.  There  was  the  case  of 
Mrs.  Hopkins,  whose  Amy  had  worked  in  the  pickle 
factory.  Amy  had  fallen  ill,  and-  had  been  the  only 
support  of  her  mother  and  three  small  brothers  and  sisters. 
One  night  Sunny  had  found  Mrs.  Hopkins  waiting  for 
her  outside  the  stage-door. 

"I  wouldn't  have  come,  my  dear — I  wouldn't  have 
dared  to  come,"  she  said,  "only  Amy  said  you  was 
always  kind  to  her,  and  so  good  and  generous,  and  my 
pore  girl  is  that  bad,  and " 

Mrs.  Melkin  waited  up  for  two  hours  beyond  her  usual 
time  that  night,  and  when  Sunny  did  come  home  at  last, 
refusing  to  give  an  account  of  herself,  her  face  was  flushed 
and  there  was  a  suggestion  of  tears  about  her  eyes.  The 
following  morning  the  bank  balance  was  depleted  by  the 
sum  of  five  pounds,  and  since  then  a  pound  a  week  had 
found  its  way  into  the  little  hovel  where  the  Hopkins 
family  lived.  But  Amy  was  getting  better  again  rapidly 
now  and  would  soon  be  back  at  Johnson's.  And  the 
Hopkins's  case  was  only  one  of  several ;  but  Sunny  kept 
her  own  secrets  to  herself  and  no  one  knew. 


No  Fool  201 

"What  I  want  is  an  idea  of  what  it's  worth;  I  don't 
know  anything  about  it,"  Sunny  said.  "If  I  was  to  go 
to  these  people  and  they  was  to  offer  me  a  pound  I 
suppose  I'd  take  it!" 

"Rot!"  Curtiss  said.  "I  happen  to  know  what  Miss 
Studgarth  got  for  appearing  in  The  Adventures  of  Annabel 
— she  got  four  hundred  and  fifty  down!" 

"Not — not  pounds?"  Sunny  asked,  her  eyes  wide. 

"Pounds,  of  course!"  he  said.  "But  then,  of  course, 
she  is  a  celebrity,  and  you're  not  half  so  well  known  as 
she  is!" 

"About  half,  say,"  Sunny  said. 

"Well,  you're  half  as  well  known,  then,"  he  said,  with 
a  smile.  "Shall  I  speak  to  Perkins?" 

"First  come,  first  served,"  Sunny  said.  "The  Sun 
people  wrote  me  first.  I'll  pop  round  and  see  'em  to- 
morrow, and,  if  nothing  comes  of  it,  I'll  see  Mr.  Perkins." 

She  went  out,  and  hurried  to  her  dressing-room  for 
the  afternoon  performance. 

The  matine'e  went  as  the  performances  at  the  Realm 
always  went.  Sunny's  song  had  lost  nothing  of  its 
popularity.  The  time  would  come  when  everybody 
would  be  sick  of  the  song.  But  the  time  had  not  come 
yet — Sunny  received  her  usual  applause.  She  was 
brought  on  again  and  again,  and  had  to  sing  the  last 
verse  three  times  in  all. 

She  was  dressed  now;  there  was  nothing  before  the 
evening  performance  would  start.  But  she  would  just 
have  time  to  run  out  and  meet  Bert,  according  to  their 
usual  custom,  and  discuss  the  new  play,  that  was  slowly 
growing  under  their  joint  efforts,  over  a  cup  of  tea  in  a 
corner  of  an  Aerated  Bread  Shop. 

Sunny  opened  the  door  of  her  dressing-room  and 
hurried  out,  running  full  tilt  into  someone  who  was 
hurrying  along  the  narrow  corridor. 


202  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Beg  pardon!  I — "Sunny  paused.  "Oh,  it's  you, 
dear!" 

It  was  Miss  Evelyn  Clifforde. 

"Yes;  I — I  am  in  a  hurry,"  she  said  hastily.  "Don't 
stop  me,  and  don't — "  She  paused.  "Good  evening, 
Sunny!" 

She  would  have  gone  on,  but  Sunny  caught  her  by 
the  arm. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"The— the  matter?  Nothing's  the  matter'"  the  girl 
said  almost  savagely.  "You — you  are  always  spying  on 
me,"  she  said — "always  trying  to  make  out  that  some- 
thing is  the  matter.  There  is  nothing  the  matter — 
nothing  at  all!  Leave  me  alone,  and — and  mind  your 
own  business !" 

Sunny  peered  into  the  girl's  face. 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  she  said.  "I've  been 
looking  for  you." 

"I  have  no  time  now,  and  I  don't  wish  to  speak  to 
you;  leave  me  alone!"  the  girl  said. 

"I've  just  got  to  speak  to  you!"  Sunny  said.  "Come 
inhere."  She  held  Evelyn's  arm  tightly.  "Come  into 
my  dressing-room;  I  shan't  keep  you  a  minute!" 

"I — I'm  not  coming!"  the  girl  stammered.  "I  tell 
you  I've  got  no  time;  besides,  I — I  don't  want!  Oh, 
don't,  don't!  Leave  me  alone!  Do  you  know,"  she 
said,  staring  down  with  dilated  eyes  in  her  white 
face — "do  you  know  that  sometimes  I — I  just  hate 
you?" 

Sunny  nodded. 

"  I  know.  I  think  I  know  why,  too, "  she  said.  "You 
come  in  here;  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"Why?" 

"I'll  tell  you  when  we're  in  there." 

"But  I  won't —    Oh,  very  well,  get  it  over  quickly!" 


No  Fool  203 

They  went  into  the  little  dressing-room  and  Sunny 
closed  the  door. 

"Now,"  she  said,  "what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"Going  to  do — what  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  you're  going  to  do  something — you're  going 
to  do  something  you  hate  doing,  and  are  ashamed  of 
doing,  and  you're  miserable,  and  very  likely  you  wish 
you  was  dead!" 

"I — I  do,  I  do!"  the  girl  gasped.  "I  wish  to  heavens 
I  was  dead!  If  I  wasn't  a  coward  I — I  would  be  dead 
now.  What  have  I  got  to  live  for? "  she  went  on  bitterly. 
"  Nothing,  nothing !  I  haven't  a  real  friend  in  the  whole 
world !  If  I  was  dead  there  isn't  a  soul  who  would  care! " 

Sunny  said  nothing.  She  let  the  girl  go  on,  thinking 
it  was  wiser. 

"I'm  a  chorus  girl,  and  I  shan't  ever  be  anything  else! 
I've  got  no  voice.  I  can't  sing  like  you  can.  I  can't  act 
like  you  can.  I'm  just  a  chorus  girl,  and  they  have  me 
here  because  I'm  fairly  good-looking.  When  I  get  old 
and  ugly  it'll  be  the  workhouse.  One  can't  save  a  lot  on 
two  pounds  a  week,  so — so — so  I'm  sick  of  it  all.  I'd 
sooner  have  a  good  time  and  finish  it  than  go  on  living 
like  this!" 

"I  saw  you  last  night  as  I  was  going  home,"  Sunny 
said. 

"You  were  spying!" 

"I  wasn't  spying  neither!"  Sunny  said  with  spirit. 
"I  was  going  home,  and  I  see  a  car  pull  up  before  one 
of  those  smart  restaurants,  and  you  got  out  with — with 
someone  else — someone  I  know  of,  and  not  much  to  his 
good,  neither!" 

"Mind  your  own  business;  it's  nothing  to  you!" 

"Yes,  it  is!"  Sunny  said.  "It's  a  lot  to  me,  because 
I  like  you,  and  because  I — I'm  a  bit  like — you  said  it 
yourself — like  what  your  little  sister  was!" 


204  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Don't!"  the  girl  whispered.  "Don't  dare  speak  of 
her!" 

"But  I'm  going  to!"  Sunny  cried.  "If  she  was  here, 
wouldn't  she  talk  to  you  just  like  I'm  talking  to  you? 
Wouldn't  she  say  don't — don't  go  and  do  anything  you 
are  ashamed  of?  Don't  do  nothing,  dear,  that  will 
prevent  us  meeting  again  in — in  another  life?" 

"I  won't  listen,"  the  other  girl  said.  "I  won't  listen 
to  you;  I— I  can't!" 

"You  can,  you — you  must!  What  was  her  name? 
Tell  me  that." 

' '  Her — her  name  ? ' ' 

"Your  sister's  name — the  girl  you  loved  and  who 
loved  you.  What  was  her  name  ?" 

"I— I  won't  tell  you;  I— I  can't!" 

"You  can,  you  will!     What  was  her  name?" 

Evelyn  hesitated. 

"Her  name  was  Dora, "  she  said. 

"And  Dora's  dead!"  Sunny  whispered.  "Dead!  I 
don't  know  much;  I  used  to  go  to  church  a  bit  when  I 
could,  only  people  used  to  look  funny  at  my  rags  in  them 
days.  I  go  now  sometimes;  but  it  isn't  only  church,  it's 
something  one  feels  inside  one,  ain't  it?  It's  believing — 
believing  as  there's  something  better  than  just  living  in 
this  world,  something  else  to  live  for  than  just  getting 
one's  meals  reg'lar  and  like  that!  Oh,  I  can't  talk — I 
know  that — but  you  understand.  You  do  understand, 
you  know  in  your  heart,  you  believe  she  is  waiting  for 
you — somewhere!  Waiting  and  hoping  and  praying  as 
you'll  come  to  her,  just  like  she  left  you  here  on  earth. 
You  know — you  know !  You'd  be  ashamed  to  face  her, 
you'd  be  ashamed  to  feel  her  kiss,  you  would !  But  you 
won't.  You're  going  to  be  what  she  would  have  wanted 
you  to  be — what  she  expects  you'll  be.  And  when  the 
time  comes  she'll  be  waiting  for  you,  gel !  She'll  be  there, 


No  Fool  205 

I  know — I  know  it,  and  then  you'll  be  glad  you  kep'  as 
you  should  keep  for  her  sake — for  your  own  sake  too. 
Oh,  I  ain't  clever  at  speaking — I  know  that — but — but 
you  understand  what  I  mean,  don't  you?" 

Evelyn  nodded  silently;  the  tears  were  coming  into 
her  eyes.  Sunny  had  watched  for  them,  hoped  for  them, 
almost  prayed  for  them.  And  they  were  coming  now ;  the 
girl's  eyes  were  wet — a  great  tear  rolled  down  her  cheek. 

"You're  only  a  girl  yourself,  little  more'n  a  child,  only 
a  little  older 'n  me!"  Sunny  whispered.  "And  there's 
heaps  of  'appiness  in  this  world  for  you  yet  if — if  you 
don't  spoil  your  life.  One  day  someone'll  come  and  ask 
you  for  your  love,  and  you'll  give  it  because  he'll  be  good 
and  honest  and  worthy  of  it.  He  won't  be  like  him  I  see 
you  with  last  night.  Would  Dora  have  liked  to  have 
seen  you  with  him?" 

"She  wouldn't,  she — she  wouldn't!  She  would  have 
hated  it!"  Evelyn  cried  suddenly.  "Sunny,  I — I  am 
going  to-day  with  him.  I  shan't  be  here  to-morrow!" 

"Yes,  you  will!"  Sunny  said.  "You  will  for  Dora's 
sake,  you  will!" 

The  girl  crumpled  up  suddenly.  The  tears  came  to 
her  eyes.  Sobbing,  she  sank  on  the  floor  and  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  It's  the — the  loneliness,  the  horrible,  horrible  loneli- 
ness !  The  feeling  that  there  isn't  anyone  in  the  world  to 
care!  To  be  quite — quite  alone!  To  have  no  one!  Oh, 
Sunny,  Sunny,  you  don't  understand!" 

"I  do,  dear!"  Sunny  said.  She  went  to  Evelyn  and 
put  her  arms  around  her ;  she  held  her  tightly.  "But  you 
won't  be  lonely  no  more,"  she  said,  "because  you  are 
coming  to  me — to  me !  You're  going  to  be  with  me.  I'm 
going  to  be  just  what  Dora  would  have  been.  You'll 
come  to  me  instead —  She  paused.  ' '  You — you  won't 
go.  It's  not  too  late  yet?" 


2o6  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Not  too  late  yet!"  Evelyn  whispered.  "But  I 
promised  him,  and " 

"Promises  don't  count  when  they  are  made  to  people 
like  him.  You  won't  go,  but  you  come  to  me  instead, 
and  we'll  be  like  you  and  Dora  would  have  been.  You 
will !  Say — say  you  will ! ' ' 

"  Do  you  mean  it  ? "     Evelyn  looked  up. 

Sunny  held  her  tightly. 

"You  know  I  mean  it!"  she  said. 

"But  you — you  would  despise  me  in  your  heart,  or 
feel  pity  for  me,  and  I  don't  want  pity." 

"I'd  feel  proud,"  Sunny  said — "proud  to  think  you 
was  so  strong  and  so  brave  that  you  could  face  tempta- 
tion and  put  it  aside!  I'd  pray  I  might  be  like  you, 
that's  all." 

"Then  I — I  will  come!"  Evelyn  whispered.  "Sunny, 
God  bless  you ! "  She  clutched  the  girl  hard  and  tightly. 
"You've  saved  me  from — from — "  She  shuddered. 
"To-night  he'll  be  waiting  for  me." 

"I'll  be  there!"  Sunny  said.     "I'll  be  there  instead!" 

"You — you  wouldn't  dare!" 

"I'll  be  there,  and  you'll  be  coming  home  with  me 
instead.  In  future  my  home  is  your  home,  that's  all!" 

Evelyn  rose  to  her  feet.  Her  face  was  pale,  but  there 
was  a  new  look  in  her  eyes — the  hardness  and  the  despair 
had  gone.  x 

"Sunny  Ducrow,  you're  a  good  girl ! "  she  said.  "One 
day  you'll  be  a  wonderful  woman!" 

"And  one  day  he'll  come,"  Sunny  said;  "and  when 
he  comes,  and  you  see  him  with  your  own  eyes,  and  when 
you  know  there's  heaps  and  heaps  of  happiness  left  in  the 
world  for  you,  you'll  look  back  and  thank  God  for 
to-day." 

" I  think  I  thank  Him  for  it  now!"  Evelyn  said. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

A   HOME    OF    HER   OWN 

THE  evening  performance  was  over.  Sunny,  with  her 
little  face  unusually  hard  and  set,  went  out.  She 
looked  about  her.  At  the  end  of  the  alley  from  which 
the  stage  entrance  opened  a  motor-landaulette  was 
waiting. 

On  the  pavement  beside  the  car  a  man  stood.  He 
was  not  in  evening  dress,  and  wore  a  light  coat.  He  was 
tall,  of  middle  age,  perhaps  a  little  more,  dark,  and  hand- 
some in  a  bold  kind  of  way.  His  nose  was  large,  hooked, 
and  somewhat  fleshy. 

He  paced  up  and  down  beside  the  car,  and  now  and 
again  stopped  to  stare  down  the  alley.  He  glanced  at 
Sunny,  half  smiled  at  her  prettiness,  and  looked  down 
the  alley  again. 

"You  needn't  wait  no  longer,"  Sunny  said. 

"I  beg  your  pardon?"  he  said. 

"Don't  mention  it!"  Sunny  said.  "All  I  said  was, 
you  needn't  wait,  because  there's  nothing  to  wait  for." 

He  stared  at  her. 

"I  don't  understand." 

"Well,  she  ain't  coming,  that's  all!  She's  done  with 
you.  She's  altered  her  mind,  and  I  helped  her  to  do  the 
altering.  See?" 

Sunny  put  her  hands  on  her  hips  and  looked  him 
straight  in  the  face. 

"The  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  get  back  to  your 

207 


208  Sunny  Ducrow 

home,"  she  said,  "that's  all!  I  thought  I'd  save  you 
waiting." 

He  glared  at  her. 

"I  don't  understand  you.  Are  you  a  messenger 
from " 

"From  Evelyn!  Yes,  I  am,  if  you  want  to  know. 
And  I  ain't  ashamed  of  my  name,  either;  it's  Sunny 
Ducrow!  As  for  you,  I  know  who  you  are,  and  if  you 
ain't  ashamed  of  your  name  you  ought  to  be!  She's 
done;  she's  through  with  you.  She's  altered  her  mind. 
You  won't  see  her  to-night  nor  no  other  nights,  nor 
days  neither.  She's  done  and  through  with  you.  I've 
given  you  the  message,  and  now — well,  you  can  hop  it, 
that's  all!" 

"You  mean  that  she — Miss  Cliff orde — sent  this 
message  through  you?" 

"That's  right!"  Sunny  said.  "And  I  don't  ever  tell 
lies,  neither." 

"And  you  have  been  interfering,  daring  to — to  inter- 
fere, to  interest  yourself  in  what  does  not  concern  you?" 

"In  what  does  concern  me!  If  I  see  any  girl  going 
to  spoil  her  life,  I'll  up  and  talk  to  her!"  Sunny  said. 
"I  talked  to  her  and  got  her  to  listen.  Now  she's  done 
and  through  with  you,  and  that's  about  all!  Better  tell 
your  shuwer  to  start  the' engine,  hadn't  you?" 

"Am  I  to  believe  you?"  he  said. 

"You  can  do  just  as  you  like;  only  it's  no  good  your 
waiting,  because  she  isn't  here  and  won't  be  here!" 
Sunny  said.  "Wait,  if  you  like.  I've  said  all  I  wanted 
to  say,  except  just  this.  You  aren't  so  particular  young, 
and  one  day  you'll  be  a  lot  older,  and  when  you  are  old 
and — and  getting  near  the  end" — she  paused — "then 
perhaps  you'll  be  sorry  at  the  things  you've  done  and 
tried  to  do — the  bad  things,  I  mean.  And  you'll  be 
afraid,  you  will,  of  the  punishment  waiting  for  you." 


A  Home  of  her  Own  209 

He  laughed. 

"You  little  fool!  "he  said. 

"Yes,  I  s'pose  I  am  a  bit  of  a  fool!"  Sunny  said.  She 
paused.  "I'm  sorry  for  her,"  she  said  softly — "very, 
very,  very  sorry;  but  in  my  heart  I  am  more  sorry  for 
you.  Good-night!"  she  said.  She  turned  and  hurried 
away. 

The  man  stared  after  her,  then  he  turned  to  the 
chauffeur  with  an  oath.  "Start  the  engine,  and  home!" 
he  said  briefly. 

Sunny  went  to  the  dressing-room.  The  others  had 
all  gone.  Evelyn  was  waiting  there  alone,  white-faced 
and  anxious,  shivering  a  little. 

"I  told  him,"  Sunny  said,  "and  I  think  he's  gone. 
Come!  She  held  out  her  hand.  "You  and  I  are  going 
home  together." 

"Yes,  yes,  just  to-night;  this  one  night,  Sunny.  I 
daren't  be  alone  to-night." 

"This  one  night  and  every  other  night,  till  you  get 
a  home  of  your  own,  a  home  that  is  a  home  to  go  to, " 
Sunny  said.  "You  come  now!"  She  took  the  other 
girl  by  the  hand,  and  hand  in  hand  they  made  their  way 
out  of  the  darkened  place. 
14 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

A   MOVE 

UR  idea  is  this,  Miss  Ducrow.     We'll  get  one  of  our 

writers  to  write  up  a  picture  play — you  to  take  the 
leading  part.  I've  got  a  draft  of  the  idea  here.  Perhaps 
you'll  look  through  it." 

Sunny  nodded. 

"I  always  look  through  everything  before  I  sign 
anything, "  she  said.  "  How  long  is  it  going  to  take  ? " 

"It  will  take  about  ten  days, "  he  said.  "You'll  have 
to  come  out  into  the  country  for  the  different  scenic 
effects.  Two  will  be  interiors,  which  we  shall  fix  up  at 
our  studios,  the  rest  are  out-of-doors  scenes.  Can  you 
swim,  by  the  way?" 

" Never  swum  a  stroke  in  my  life! "  Sunny  said. 

The  manager  of  the  Sun  Picture  Company  frowned. 

"That's  a  nuisance!" 

"I'd  learn,  if  it  was  necessary,"  she  said.  "I'd  learn 
inside  a  week  easily!" 

"But " 

"Anyhow,  put  it  down  that  I  can  swim,"  she  said. 
"Now,  go  on." 

"Well,  it  would  be  necessary  for  you  to  swim.  In 
one  scene  you  leap  off  the  deck  of  a  yacht  and  swim 
ashore.  However,  if  necessary,  we  could  put  on  someone 
else  to  do  it." 

"I'll  do  it  myself!"  Sunny  said.  "Now,  about  the 
terms?" 

2IO 


A  Move  2ii 

The  manager  looked  at  her. 

"Well,  what  terms  have  you  in  your  mind?"  he  asked 
evasively. 

"  I've  got  my  own  terms  in  my  mind  all  right, "  Sunny 
said,  "but  I  want  to  hear  from  you  first.  It'll  take  ten 
days.  One  thing  you've  got  to  remember.  I  can't  come 
Wednesdays  and  Saturdays  because  of  the  matine'es,  so 
it'll  take  about  two  weeks.  Now,  what  do  you  say?" 
She  looked  at  him  engagingly. 

"I  had  not  gone  into  the  matter  of  terms,"  he  said; 
"but  of  course  we  should  meet  you  liberally,  Miss 
Ducrow." 

"You'd  have  to, "  she  said;  "  me  learning  to  swim  and 
all!  Besides,  there's  another  firm  after  me." 

He  looked  up. 

"Another?" 

"Yes;  but  that's  got  nothing  to  do  with  it  now," 
Sunny  said.  "What  do  you  offer  me?" 

He  paused  again. 

"  I — I  thought,"  he  said — "  we  find  all  necessary  things 
— costumes  and  so  on — and  pay  all  expenses — travelling 
and — and  so  on" — he  waved  his  hand — "and  pay  you, 
say" — he  paused  again — "three  guineas  a  day.  That 
will  be  thirty  guineas  for  the  ten  days.  Or  if  it  takes 
longer  or  less  time,  proportionately,  of  course,  on  the 
basis  of  three  guineas  a  day." 

"So  you've  got  that  off  your  chest!"  Sunny  said. 
"  Now,  you  just  listen  to  what  I've  got  to  say.  I  know 
what  Miss  Studgarth  was  paid,  I  know  what  Nellie 
Hanson  was  paid,  and  lots  of  others — and  it  wasn't  three 
guineas  a  day,  neither !  My  terms  is  this."  She  paused. 
"Ten  guineas  a  day,  and  a  guarantee  for  not  less  than 
ten  days.  That  means  you  guarantee  I  don't  get  less 
than  a  hundred  guineas  for  this  business,  and  it's  cheap 
at  the  price!" 


212  Sunny  Ducrow 

"But  it  is  impossible!" 

"That  settles  it,  then!  I'm  going  round  to  see  Mr. 
Dawson  Perkins  of  the " 

"Who?  "he  said. 

"Mr.  Dawson  Perkins.  He's  a  friend  of  a  friend  of 
mine.  Only  you  wrote  first  and  I  gave  you  first  chance. 
Yes  or  no?" 

"But  I  can't,  I  mean,  unless  I  consult  my  directors." 

"I'll  give  you  till  eleven  to-morrow  morning, "  Sunny 
said.  "  If  I  don't  hear  I'll  go  and  fix  up  with  Mr.  Perkins. 
You've  got  my  address.  So-long!"  She  nodded  and 
went  out. 

"Three  guineas  a  day!"  she  muttered.  "Not  taking 
any,  thank  you." 

It  was  barely  two  hours  later  that  a  messenger  delivered 
a  letter  to  Sunny  at  her  lodgings. 

The  letter  was  to  accept  her  terms. 

"I  have  put  the  matter  before  my  directors,  and,  while 
they  are  of  the  opinion  that  the  terms  are  somewhat  high, 
they  are  desirous  of  enlisting  your  services  in  our  com- 
pany, and  so  I  am  instructed  to  accept  your  offer,"  etc. 

Sunny  laughed.  "I  expect  he  keeps  his  directors  on 
a  shelf  handy, "  she  said.  "Anyhow,  that's  settled;  and 
now  I've  got  to  learn  swimming." 

When  Sunny  made  up  her  mind  to  do  a  thing  it  did 
not  take  her  long  to  carry  it  out.  She  had  to  learn 
swimming,  and  the  following  morning  she  went  to  the 
swimming  baths  and  took  her  first  lesson.  Three  morn- 
ings later  she  could  swim  sufficiently  well  to  keep  herself 
up  without  outside  assistance.  By  the  end  of  the  week 
she  could  comfortably  swim  three  lengths  of  the  baths, 
and  the  only  thing  that  puzzled  her  was  that  she  had  not 
been  able  to  swim  at  the  beginning. 

A  fortnight  later  Sunny  commenced  her  work  for  the 
film  company.  By  this  time  she  was  a  fairly  proficient 


A  Move  213 

swimmer,  and  had  accustomed  herself  to  swimming  in 
her  clothes. 

It  took  not  ten  days,  but  fourteen  in  all  before  the  film 
was  complete,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  Sunny  received 
a  cheque  for  a  hundred  and  forty  guineas  to  add  to  her 
little  store  in  the  bank. 

"And  now,"  she  said  to  herself,  "I  don't  see  no 
particular  reason  why  I  shouldn't  see  about  getting  that 
furniture  and  looking  for  a  flat !  We're  a  bit  pushed  for 
room  now  Evelyn's  living  with  us,  and  aunt — she's 
worriting  and  worriting  fit  to  break  her  heart.  I'll  see 
about  it,  I  will!" 

Sunny  said  nothing  to  Mrs.  Melkin;  she  went  to  an 
agent  and  received  particulars  of  some  score  of  flats. 

"A  pound  a  week's  about  what  I  want,"  she  said  to 
him.  "That's  fifty  pound  a  year  in  all.  Something 
small  and  not  too  expensive-looking.  There's  got  to  be 
three  bedrooms,  and  a  sitting-room,  and  a  kitchen." 

There  were  many  such  flats,  and  Sunny  spent  three 
mornings  with  Bert  inspecting  them. 

"The  more  I  see  of  'em  the  more  muddled  I  get!" 
she  said.  "Everyone  looks  nice,  and  everyone's  got 
something  against  it,  Bert." 

"Me,  I  wouldn't  bother!"  he  said.  "Anywhere's 
good  enough  to  live  in!" 

This  morning  they  were  making  their  way  back  from 
the  southeastern  district.  They  were  going  to  have 
lunch  at  their  usual  Aerated  Bread  Shop  when  Bert 
suddenly  pulled  up. 

"Look!"  he  said.     "See  that!" 

"See  what?" 

' '  Him ! "  Bert  said.  ' '  Johnson !  Lor' ,  ain't  he  looking 
old?" 

Sunny  looked.  It  was  true,  it  was  Mr.  Johnson  of  the 
pickle  factory.  She  had  not  seen  him  for  months,  and 


214  Sunny  Due  row 

now  she  looked  at  him  interestedly.  As  Bert  had  said, 
he  was  looking  old  and  careworn. 

"Poor  old  dear!"  she  said.  "One  time,  Bert,  I  used 
to  shake  in  my  shoes  when  he  come  along!" 

"So  did  I!"  Bert  said. 

Mr.  Johnson  looked  up.  He  saw  them,  hesitated  for  a 
moment,  then  came  towards  them  and  held  out  his  hand 
to  Sunny. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I'm  glad  to  see  you  again!  I  hear 
you've  both  been  doing  well  for  yourselves.  Well,  you 
deserve  it,  at  any  rate,  Sunny.  We  missed  you  at  the  old 
place!"  He  sighed.  "We  missed  you  badly  when  you 
first  left." 

"I'm  glad!"  Sunny  said.  "I  like  to  be  missed.  I 
hope  you've  got  a  girl  doing  my  work  as  sticks  the 
label  on  straight  now,  sir?" 

He  nodded. 

"Oh,  the  labels  are  straight  enough,"  he  said.  "The 
fact  is,  there  won't  be  many  more  labels  to  stick  on,  I'm 
afraid!" 

"Running  short  of  labels?" 

"Running  short  of  money,  Sunny.  It  looks  to  me  as 
if  I  shall  have  to  put  the  shutters  up  before  long.  Bad 
times  and  bad  debts ;  hampered  for  want  of  ready  money." 
He  sighed.  "  It's  been  a  hard  fight.  You  were  lucky  to 
leave  when  you  did.  The  others  will  be  finding  them- 
selves out  of  work,  I  am  afraid,  in  a  few  weeks." 

"Law,  as  bad  as  that!"  Sunny  said. 

"  Yes,  as  bad  as  that !  It's  capital — the  want  of  capital 
— that's  done  it.  If  I  could  buy  in  the  best  markets  I've 
got  to  have  capital;  but  I  can't,  and  credit  means " 

' '  Ruin —  I  know  that.  What  I  say  is,  pay  for  what  you 
want,  and  get  the  best  you  can  for  the  money.  We're 
going  to  have  a  bit  of  something  to  eat,  me  and  Bert; 
will  you  join  us?" 


A  Move  215 

Bert  stared  at  her.  He  wondered  at  Sunny's  daring. 
In  Bert's  eyes,  Mr.  Johnson  of  the  pickle  factory  was  a 
far  greater  and  more  powerful  man  than  Mr.  Hemming- 
way  or  Mr.  Barstowe. 

At  a  little  table  at  the  far  back  of  the  tea-shop  Sunny 
sat  with  her  elbows  on  the  table. 

"Now,  tell  us  all  about  it — all  about  the  worries 
and  everything,"  she  said.  "Is  Bill  Wilkins  with  you 
still?" 

"Yes,  he  is  still  there,  poor  fellow.  He'll  have  a  hard 
job  to  find  another  berth,  I'm  afraid." 

"How  is  it  you  stand?"  Sunny  asked. 

"It's  simply  this,  Sunny, — I  don't  know  why  I  tell 
you,  but  I  suppose  it's  a  relief  to  a  man  to  tell  his  worries, 
— I'm  hampered  by  want  of  ready  money.  Try  how  I 
may,  I  can't  get  a  hundred  or  two  to  my  credit.  If  I  had 
a  few  hundreds  I'd  be  all  right.  It's  just  this  bad  time — 
fruit  and  vegetables  all  up,  vinegar  a  ruinous  price,  unless 
one  can  buy  it  right.  Sugar — you  know  what  sugar  is! 
Of  course  ours  isn't  a  big  business — not  like  some.  It 
never  was;  but  if  I  had  the  ready  money  I  could  have 
pushed  on.  As  it  is,  we  must  go  under." 

"Won't  no  one  put  money  into  the  business?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  How  much  would  you  want  to  keep  going — the  least 
you  could  do  with?"  Sunny  asked. 

"A  hundred  or  two, "  he  said.  "Say  two  hundred  and 
fifty.  It  would  mean  all  the  difference  in  the  world.  I 
could  buy  stores  then  for  cash.  I'd  save  about  thirty  per 
cent.  I've  got  orders  enough  to  keep  us  going  for  a  long 
time.  But  the  worst  of  it  is,  under  the  present  system  the 
orders  don't  show  enough  profit  to  keep  us  running,  with 
the  wages  and  rent  and  other  expenses." 

"Supposing  you  had  two  hundred  and  fifty,  could  you 
keep  going  on  that?" 


216  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Yes.  But  you  couldn't  find  anyone  who  would 
advance  me  that." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  can't,"  she  said  thoughtfully. 
"What  would  you  give  for  two  hundred  and  fifty,  sir?" 

"Give?"  he  said.  "Give?  Oh  well,  I  would  give  a 
half -share  in  the  business!" 

"What  are  you  driving  at,  Sunny?"  Bert  asked. 

"I've  got  an  idea,  that's  all."  She  paused.  " Bert, " 
she  said  suddenly,  "could  you  lend  me  three  pounds  till 
the  end  of  the  week?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "of  course.  But  you  don't  want  no 
three  pounds." 

"Yes,  I  do.  You  see,  all  I've  got  is  two  hundred 
and  forty-seven  pounds.  I  want  to  give  Mr.  Johnson  a 
cheque  for  two  hundred  and  fifty.  As  for  that  there  flat 
and  the  furniture,  it  seems  to  me  that  it's  got  to  wait  a  bit 
yet,  Bert.  I'd  hate  to  think  of  Bill  Wilkins  being  out  of 
work  and  the  old  place  being  shut  down!" 

' '  What  do  you  mean  ? ' '  Johnson  asked  Sunny.  ' '  Surely 
you  haven't  got  the  money?" 

"That's  just  what  I  have  got,  bar  three  pounds.  Bert 
is  going  to  lend  me  that,  and  I'd  love  to  be  a  partner,  I 
would!  Fancy  me  being  a  partner  in  the  business  where 
I  used  to  stick  the  labels  on  the  pots  not  long  ago !  Law, 
won't  they  laugh,  Bill  and  the  rest,  when  they  see  the  new 
name  go  up — 'Johnson  and  Ducrow!" 

"  Sunny,  you  mean  it  ? "  Mr.  Johnson  said  eagerly. 

Sunny  held  out  her  hand. 

"You'll  have  two  hundred  and  fifty  by  this  time  to- 
morrow, "  she  said.  "And  me  and  Bert'll  come  down  and 
see  the  new  name;  won't  we,  Bert?" 

"Good  heavens!"  Mr.  Johnson  said.  "To — to  think 
that  you — I  was  practically  despairing!  I  felt  sure  it 
would  all  have  to  go!  Sunny,  are  you  sure  you  have  the 
money?" 


A  Move  217 

"I've  got  two  hundred  and  forty-seven,  and  Bert's 
three  makes  two  hundred  and  fifty.  And  this  time  to- 
morrow I'm  going  to  be  your  partner.  Do  you  remember 
that  day  when  you  first  took  me  on?" 

"  I  remember !     I've  never  forgotten  it ! " 

"Do  you  remember  me  showing  you  how  the  labels 
was  stuck  on  crooked?"  Sunny  said. 

"I  remember,  and  you  struck  me  as  being  smart.  I 
decided  to  give  you  your  chance.  I  little  thought  the 
time  would  ever  come  when  you  would  give  me  my 
chance,  Sunny!" 

"It's  a  funny  world!"  Sunny  said.  "And  there's 
only  one  thing  to  do  in  it,  and  that's  to  hold  up  your 
head  and  keep  smiling." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE   OLD   FRIENDS 

WANK?"  Sunny  said.  "I  dare  say  it  is,  Bert.  I 
ain't  pretending  with  you  no  more  than  I  am  with 
myself.  Only  it  isn't  all  swank,  either!"  She  paused. 
"  I  wouldn't  have  liked  the  old  show  to  shut  up  and  Bill 
and  the  rest  to  be  out  of  work,  nor  wouldn't  you,  Bert!" 

"S'pose  I  wouldn't!"  he  said  gloomily.  "Only  that's 
what  it'll  come  to  in  the  long-run  for  all  of  us.  People'll 
get  tired  of  me  and  you,  Sunny,  they  will! " 

"Not  much;  but  if  they  do,  why,  we'll  have  the  pickle 
factory  to  go  back  to  now,  anyhow! " 

Three  days  had  passed;  the  money  had  been  duly  paid 
over,  and  the  style  of  the  firm  was  henceforth  "Johnson 
&  Ducrow,  Pickle  and  Jam  Manufacturers." 

It  had  been  Sunny's  express  wish  that  the  new  firm 
should  be  launched  in  style.  The  hands  were  to  have  a 
beanfeast,  the  cost  of  which  was  to  come  out  of  Sunny's 
pocket. 

She  had  interviewed  Mr.  Arthur  Curtiss  and  had  drawn 
ten  pounds  in  advance,  and  Sunny  had  made  her  arrange- 
ments accordingly.  And  to-day  (Thursday)  the  bean- 
feast was  to  take  place.  There  was  to  be  a  motor-char-a- 
banc  to  take  the  whole  party  to  Epping.  The  provisions 
Sunny  had  arranged  for.  The  only  thing  she  could  not 
arrange  for  in  advance  was  the  weather.  But  it  happened 
to  be  a  beautiful  day — just  the  very  day  she  would  have 
chosen. 

218 


The  Old  Friends  219 

They  were  to  meet  at  the  pickle  factory  in  Cutway 
Street,  Borough,  at  eight-thirty  precisely.  And  now,  at 
seven-thirty,  Bert  and  Sunny,  Evelyn  Clifforde  and  Mrs. 
Melkin,  were  taking  their  breakfast  together.  Mrs.  Mel- 
kin  was  in  her  painful  best.  She  wore  a  bonnet  with 
tall,  nodding  plumes,  like  one  sees  on  a  funeral  hearse, 
and  her  face  was  in  sombre  keeping  with  her  headgear. 
Her  dress  of  rusty  black  silk,  split  where  it  had  been 
folded,  creaked  and  rustled  with  her  every  movement. 
She  had  a  deep,  black-edged  pocket-handkerchief,  with 
which  she  dabbed  her  eyes  now  and  again.  It  was  evident 
that  Mrs.  Melkin  had  made  up  her  mind  to  spend  a  very 
pleasant  and  happy  day. 

"Now,  old  dear,  if  I  was  you,"  Sunny  said,  "reely  I 
shouldn't  come.  It'll  only  upset  you.  It'll  get  you 
thinking  about  the  days  when  you  was  a  young  girl  and 
used  to  go  out  on  beanfeasts  and  like  that.  You'll  only 
go  and  upset  yourself;  you  know  you  will!" 

"I'll  try  and  bear  it,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said.  "It'll  no 
doubt  bring  back  tender  and  'eart-breaking  memories, 
but  I'll  bear  up.  If  sentiment  gets  the  better  of  me,  I'll 
withdraw  quiet  and  'ave  a  little  weep." 

"I  shouldn't  if  I  was  you,"  Sunny  repeated.  "Be- 
sides, you  might  get  cold  sitting  about  on  the  wet  grass." 

"Sunny  Ducrow,  I'm  going!"  Mrs.  Melkin  said. 
"And  so  no  more  about  it,  if  you  please!  I  should  be 
sorry  to  think,  Elizabeth  Ann,  that  you  didn't  want  me 
to  join  in  the  gay  and  festering  scene!" 

Sunny  said  no  more.  It  was  hopeless.  Mrs.  Melkin 
certainly  did  intend  coming,  and  nothing  would  stop  her. 

Evelyn  Clifforde  was  going  too.  Sunny  had  explained 
that  the  pickle  and  jam  hands  were  inclined  to  be  a  little 
rough  in  their  play. 

"But  they  are  a  good  lot,  the  best  lot  in  the  world!" 
Sunny  had  said.  "They  used  to  be  my  friends  and  they 


220  Sunny  Ducrow 

are  my  friends  still.  Me!  I'm  one  of  them  when  I  am 
with  them,  and  it'll  always  be  like  that  with  me,  Evy! 
I'm  going  to  try  to  get  on,  I'm  working  hard  to  get  on. 
I  am  getting  on  a  bit,  come  to  that.  Time  was — not  so 
very  long  ago — I  was  sticking  labels  on  jam  pots  there; 
now  I'm  a  partner.  But,  whatever  happens,  I'm  not 
going  to  lose  sight  of  old  friends.  Only  I  know,  dear,  they 
ain't  your  friends,  and  you  mightn't  care  for  them! " 

"If  they  are  your  friends,  Sunny,"  Evelyn  said,  "it  is 
enough  for  me." 

So  she  was  going.  And  there  was  someone  else  who 
might — just  possibly  might  turn  up.  Sunny  rather  hoped 
that  he  would  not.  It  was  Dobrington.  Yesterday 
evening  he  had  asked  Sunny  to  have  a  run  out  with  him 
in  his  car  to  Brighton  for  lunch  and  back  in  time  for  the 
evening  performance. 

"Can't  do  it!"  Sunny  said.  "I'm  going  on  another 
sort  of  beanfeast.  Not  so  far  as  Brighton  quite.  You 
see,"  she  explained,  "I'm  going  on  Johnson's  beanfeast 
with  my  old  friends  at  the  pickle  and  jam  factory.  See?" 

"  I  wish  I  could  come  too, "  he  said. 

Sunny  laughed.  She  did  not  realize  that  he  meant  it 
seriously. 

"Oh,  you  can  come  if  you  like,  of  course!"  she  said. 
"You'll  like  Bill  Wilkins  and  the  rest.  Get  on  fine  with 
them,  I  should  say!"  She  laugned  again.  "Anyhow, 
we  start  from  Cutway  Street  in  the  charrybang  at  half- 
past  eight.  If  you  want  to  go,  you  must  be  there  in  time." 
And  that  was  all,  so  far  as  she  was  concerned. 

Of  course,  there  would  not  be  the  slightest  likelihood 
that  Dobrington  would  be  there.  Viscount  Dobrington, 
a  very  fashionable  young  man,  moving  in  the  very  best 
circles,  at  a  pickle  and  jam  factory  jaunt!  Not  likely! 
Sunny  smiled  at  the  thought. 

"Anyhow,  there's  as  good  men  as  him!"  she  mused. 


The  Old  Friends  221 

Sunny  had  made  up  her  mind  to  enjoy  herself.  She  was 
not  going  to  wear  any  old  dress.  The  very  best  dress  she 
had  was  not  too  good  for  her  old  friends  of  the  pickle 
factory.  It  would  be  an  insult  to  them  if  she  put  on 
anything  less  than  her  very  best! 

At  eight  they  were  ready.  The  taxi-cab  drew  up  at 
the  door.  Bert  helped  Mrs.  Melkin  in.  Mrs.  Melkin 
sniffed  and  wiped  her  eyes. 

"Don't  take  no  notice  of  me  if  I'm  a  bit  sad-like, "  she 
said.  "If  you  see  me  weepin',  don't  call  no  attention  to 
it.  Oh  dear,  it  reminds  me  of  the  day  when  me  and  my 
pore  husband — him  as  is  dead " 

"Come  on,  Evy!"  Sunny  said.  "In  with  you!  Now 
then,  Bert!  Right  away,  driver!  Cutway  Street,  and 
don't  'ang  about!" 

Sunny 's  eyes  were  sparkling.  She  was  brimming  over 
with  sheer  delight  and  the  joy  of  youth  and  kindness. 
Overhead  the  sun  shone  gloriously  in  a  blue  sky.  Could 
anyone  wish  for  more  ? 

The  cab  certainly  performed  the  journey  in  fine  style. 
It  dashed  over  the  bridge  and  made  its  way  into  the 
Borough.  Then  finally,  with  a  honk,  honk !  on  the  some- 
what wheezy  motor-horn,  it  turned  into  Cutway  Street. 

And  what  a  sight  Cutway  Street  presented  this  day! 
There  stood  the  huge  char-a-banc  that  would  hold  forty 
people  without  crushing.  There  stood  Bill  Wilkins  and 
Mr.  Johnson  and  the  hands,  all  in  their  best  and  gala 
attire. 

"Look,  look!  Don't  Billy  look  fine?"  Sunny  hung 
out  of  one  window,  Bert  out  of  the  opposite  one.  They 
waved  their  hands  and  shrieked  welcome  to  the  impatient 
crowd  on  the  pavement. 

"There  she  is !  There  she  is !  Three  cheers  for  Sunny ! 
'Allo  Sunny!  Why,  if  it  ain't  Bert,  and  he's  got  his  neck 
washed !  Oh,  ain't  Bert  a  swell !  How  are  you,  old  dear?" 


222  Sunny  Ducrow 

One  stout,  good-natured-looking  girl  threw  her  arms 
around  Bert's  neck  and  kissed  him  lustily. 

"Not  so  fast!"  Bert  said.  '"Ands  off!  You've 
crumpled  my  collar!" 

Mr.  Johnson  advanced  in  state.  He  held  out  his  hand 
to  Sunny  and  took  off  his  hat. 

"Welcome!"  he  said.  "Ahem — "  He  paused,  he 
cleared  his  throat,  he  turned  to  the  others. 

Cutway  Street  presented  a  gay  appearance.  Johnson's 
Pickle  Factory  was  in  possession  of  the  roadway  and  the 
pavement,  such  as  it  was.  The  three  or  four  other 
factories  that  occupied  the  narrow,  dirty  street  had  struck 
work  for  the  moment.  Heads  were  thrust  out  of  every 
window  up  and  down  the  street.  Now  silence  fell  on  all. 
Mr.  Johnson  was  going  to  make  a  speech.  He  stood  with 
Sunny's  hand  in  his,  and  went  red  and  then  pale. 

"  Friends ! "  he  said.    "  Friends— 

"Get  on  with  it!"  someone  said. 

"Silence!  Shut  up;  hold  your  row!  Let  the  guv'nor 
get  it  off  his  chest!" 

"Friends,"  Mr.  Johnson  said,  "this — ahem! — is  a 
happy  day  for  us,  a  very,  very  happy  day.  We  see  back 
among  us  for  a  little  time,  for  one  short  day,  alas! — I 
say  alas — "  He  paused. 

"Get  on  with  it!" 

"For  one  short  day  we  see  back  among  us  one  who  I 
— I  may — ahem! — say,  I  think  I  may  say,  is  for  always 
enshrined  within  our  hearts — our  dear,  dear  little  friend, 
our  comrade  and  true  friend,  Sunny  Ducrow! " 

"Hurrah,  hurrah!"  Bill  Wilkins  bellowed. 

Everyone  else  shouted  "  Hurrah ! "  And  Sunny  turned 
red;  the  tears  stood  in  her  eyes. 

"When  she  was  here  among  us,  a  simple  worker  and 
a  good  worker  too — for  there  was  never  a  better — Sunny 
was  everyone's  favorite.  Everyone  loved  her,  from  me 


The  Old  Friends  223 

downwards.  Now  she  is  back,  just  for  the  day;  but  that 
is  not  all!  Look  here!"  Mr.  Johnson  waved  his  hand 
dramatically.  Over  the  dingy  front  of  the  pickle  factory 
had  been  erected  a  new  board,  and  on  the  board,  in  huge 
white  letters,  was  painted  "Johnson  &  Ducrow." 

" Sunny 's  back!"  Mr.  Johnson  said.  "Back  in  more 
ways  than  one!  Our  luck  is  her  luck;  henceforth  she  is 
with  us,  of  us — not  a  worker  among  us,  alas!" 

"Don't  you  believe  it!"  Sunny  said.  "I'm  going  to 
work  for  this  old  show  now  like  I  never  worked  before. 
I'll  bet  we're  going  to  make  things  move,  too;  why,  I'm 
fair  bunged  up  with  ideas! " 

"  Hooray,  so  you  always  was ! ' '  big  Bill  Wilkins  shouted. 
"Sunny  for  ideas  all  the  time !  Eh,  boys  and  girls ? " 

"I  don't  think  I've  got  anything  more  to  say,"  Mr. 
Johnson  said,  "except  that  one  and  all  of  us  from  our 
hearts  welcome  Sunny  Ducrow  back  among  us.  May 
she  be  of  us  and  with  us  for  many,  many  years  to  come ! " 

The  speech  ended  with  a  hurricane  of  cheering.  The 
cheering  was  taken  up  by  the  interested  onlookers  from 
Morton's  Printing  Works,  from  Hopkins  &  Saunders's 
Blouse  and  Underclothing  Factory,  and  the  employees  of 
the  Black  Diamond  Boot  Polish  Factory. 

"Hooray,  hooray,  hooray!  Long  life,  Sunny  Ducrow! 
Good  old  Sunny!" 

It  was  heart-rending!  Mrs.  Melkin  broke  down,  and 
howled  into  her  black-edged  handkerchief. 

Round  the  corner  of  Cutway  Street  turned  a  very 
handsome  touring  car,  but  no  one  took  any  notice  of  it. 
Sunny  was  the  principal  figure  at  the  moment.  She  stood 
up  and  looked  about  her. 

"  I  am  glad  to  be  back, "  she  said.  "  I  was  happy  here 
among  you,  and  we  are  all  going  to  be  happy  together 
again!  I'm  not  going  to  be  sticking  labels  in  the  future; 
there's  another  job,  I  think,  for  me  to  do.  Only  one 


224  Sunny  Ducrow 

thing" — she  paused — "I'm  the  same  old  Sunny  Ducrow 
and  you're  the  same  dear  friends  as  you've  always  been. 
I  love  you  all  just  as  I  used  to,  and  I  want  you  to  go  on 
liking  me  the  same!  We're  going  to  have  a  happy  day 
together.  Aunt's  started  all  right ;  she's  enjoying  herself ! " 

Mrs.  Melkin  sobbed  into  her  handkerchief. 

"And  to-night,  after  the  day's  over  and  done  with," 
Sunny  went  on,  "you're  all  to  come  to  the  Realm.  I 
got  seats  from  Mr.  Curtiss  for  you  all,  and  you'll  see  me 
there !  And  now — now,  if  we  are  ready —  Oh,  crumbs ! " 
She  paused.  "If  it  ain't  the  vis-count  after  all!"  she 
said. 

It  was!  Dobrington  had  arrived!  The  hands  stared 
at  the  young  man  who  had  descended  from  the  smart  car. 
He  was  immaculately  dressed,  and  he  certainly  looked 
very  handsome  and  distinguished. 

"Toff!"  one  girl  said.  "My  'at,  we're  getting  into 
society,  we  are !  'Go's  the  juke  that's  blowed  in? " 

Dobrington  looked  round  and  smiled.  "Miss  Ducrow 
said  I  might  come,  and  so  I  have  come, "  he  said.  "  I  hope 
you  don't  mind!  I  wanted  to  know  all  her  old  friends. 
I'm  only  a  new  friend  of  hers,  but  I  am  her  friend  none 
the  less.  So  I  hope  you'll  make  room  for  me  among  you 
all  to-day!" 

"That  we  will,  and  good  luck  to  you!"  Bill  Wilkins 
said.  "  My  name's  Wilkins ! "  He  held  out  his  hand. 

"Mine's  Dobrington!" 

"Glad  to  meet  you!"  Bill  said.  "Mr.  Harris,  Mr. 
Dobrington;  Mr.  Allbut,  Mr.  Dobrington:  Miss  Stevens!" 
He  introduced  them  all ;  there  was  a  great  deal  of  hand- 
shaking. 

"Shall  you  have  room  for  me  in  the — er — brake," 
Dobrington  asked,  "or  shall  I  follow  in  the  other  car;1" 

"  Plenty  of  room ! "  Sunny  said.  "We'll  all  go  together. 
Now  then,  if  we're  all  ready ! " 


The  Old  Friends  225 

"All  aboard!"  Bill  Wilkins  bellowed.  "All  aboard!" 
There  was  a  rush  for  the  char-a-banc. 

"May  I  sit  next  to  you,  Sunny?"  Dobrington 
whispered. 

"No,  you  can't!"  she  said.  "I've  got  Bill  on  one 
side  and  Mr.  Johnson  on  the  other.  Sorry,  old  dear, 
but — 

"All  right!"  he  said.  "I'll  sit  next  to  that  pretty  girl 
with  the  yellow  blouse." 

He  did,  and  that  he  made  himself  very  agreeable  and 
polite  to  Miss  Ada  Harris,  of  the  picking  department, 
there  was  no  doubt. 

"Go  hon!"  she  said.  "Hee,  hee!"  She  giggled  and 
blushed  and  looked  coy.  She  was  having  the  time  of  her 
life. 

They  were  off!  The  hands  from  the  other  factories 
gave  them  a  cheer  and  waved  their  hands  enviously. 
The  char-a-banc  started.  At  the  corner  it  gave  a  jolt; 
everyone  put  his  arms  around  everyone's  waist;  Miss 
Harris  screamed  and  clung  to  Dobrington. 

"Ain't  we  going  to  be  killed?"  she  demanded. 

"I  hope  not;  yet  it  would  be  pleasant  to  die  in  such 
society!"  he  said. 

But  they  were  not  killed.  They  got  round  the  bend 
safely;  now  they  were  fairly  off.  The  huge  contrivance 
went  lumbering  through  the  City  and  down  the  White- 
chapel  Road.  Bill  Wilkins  had  brought  his  concertina,  on 
which  he  was  an  admirable  player.  Alf  Harris  had  his 
mouth-organ;  so  the  orchestra  was  all  right. 

"Now  then,  Sunny,  give  us  a  song!"  Bill  shouted. 
"Somethink  as  we  can  join  in  the  chorus." 

"I  don't  know  what  to  sing,"  Sunny  said.  "How 
about  my  song  at  the  Realm? " 

"No ;  give  us  one  of  the  old  ones !    You  know,  that  one 
as  you  used  to  sing  when  you  was  in  the  factory ! " 
15 


226  Sunny  Ducrow 

"What's  that?"  Sunny  asked. 

"My  Old  Dutch,"  said  Bill. 

Sunny  looked  at  Bert,  Bert  looked  at  Sunny.  They 
both  had  cause  to  remember  that  song.  Had  they  not 
sung  it  that  eventful  night  when  they  had  been  marched 
off  to  the  police-station  and  to  fortune,  the  night  that  had 
been  the  turning-point  in  their  careers? 

"All  right!"  Sunny  said.  "Just  as  soon  sing  that  as 
any  other." 

Bert  sat  next  to  Evelyn  Clifforde.  They  were  rather 
tightly  packed,  but  Bert  did  not  mind  that;  he  liked  it,  so 
perhaps  did  the  girl. 

"Me  and  Sunny  was  run  in  once  for  singing  that  song! " 
he  whispered. 

' '  You  were  run  in  ?    You  mean  taken  to ' ' 

"Chokey!"  Bert  said.  He  nodded.  "All  night  in 
the  cells  for  us.  I  don't  regret  it,  though;  nor  don't 
Sunny!" 

"Tell  me  all  about  it ! "    Evelyn  said. 

"  Presently, "  Bert  said.  He  nodded.  "  Sunny 's  going 
to  begin  now,  Miss  Clifforde." 

Miss  Clifforde  edged  a  little  nearer  to  Bert.  "I  don't 
see  why  you  should  call  me  Miss  Clifforde!"  she  said. 
"Do  you?" 

Bert  shook  his  head.  "I  don't,  neither;  only  it's  your 
name!" 

"So  is  Evelyn,  or  Evy,  as  Sunny  calls  me,  Bert,"  she 
whispered. 

"You  mean " 

"Of  course.' 

Bert  turned  red.  It  was  certainly  one  of  the  happiest 
days  he  remembered. 

Bill  Wilkins  struck  up  the  introductory  notes  on  the 
concertina,  and  now  Sunny  gave  voice.  They  were  roll- 
ing and  banging  down  the  Whitechapel  Road. 


The  Old  Friends  227 

"Now  altogether! "  Bill  bellowed. 

"We  bin  together  naaw  for  forty  year! " 

Even  Mr.  Johnson  forgot  his  dignity  sufficiently  to 
join  in.  Dobrington  did  his  part  lustily;  somehow  his 
arm  had  found  its  way  round  Miss  Ada  Harris's  yellow 
silk  waist. 

"Give  over  now — go  hon ! "  she  said.    "Not  so  tight ! " 

"And  it  don't  seem  a  dye  too  much! 
There  ain't  a  lydy  living  in  the  land " 

Sunny's  song  was  a  grand  success.  It  was  Bill's  turn, 
and  he  obliged  with  Daarn  the  Road! 

That  song  went  well  too. 

"'Ow  about  your  friend  over  there,  Sunny?"  Bill 
demanded.  "That  there  Mister  Dobson — cawn't  'e 
sing?" 


CHAPTER  XXX 

NEW   IDEAS 

"I'M  not  much  in  the  singing  line,"  Dobrington  said, 

1     "but  I'll  have  a  cut  at  it  if  you  like !  " 

He  sang  Little  Grey  Home  in  the  West,  and  sang  it 
exceedingly  well  and  gained  much  applause. 

"Law,  cawn't  you  sing  well!"  Miss  Ada  Harris  said. 
"A  fair  'umming-bird  you  are!  What  line  are  you  in?" 

"Line?  Oh — "  Dobrington  paused.  "Line  of  Suc- 
cession, I  suppose!"  he  said. 

"What's  that?  Never  'eard  of  it!  Funny  trades 
there  are  about  now,  ain't  there?"  Miss  Harris  said. 

Mr.  Johnson  and  Sunny  were  holding  an  interested 
conversation  in  low  voices. 

"I  got  ideas,"  Sunny  said.  "I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about  'em !  What  we  want  to  do  is  to  get  our  name  up — 
there's  nothing  like  it.  We  won't  supply  no  more  whole- 
sale houses;  we'll  have  a  cut  at  the  retail.  " 

"It's  easier  said  than  done!    It  means  advertisement." 

"Well,  we're  going  to  advertise!" 

"It  means  money,"  he  said.    "But " 

"  We'll  advertise  all  right !    I'll  talk  to  Moss  about  it ! " 

"Moss!    Who's  he?" 

"Oh,  he's  an  agent;  but  he  knows  everything.  What 
I've  been  thinking  is  this,"  Sunny  said.  "How  do  you 
manage  now?  You  supply  Jinks  and  Smith  and  Jarvis 
and  all  the  rest;  they  stick  their  names  on  your  pots. 
People  think  your  stuff  is  made  by  Jinks.  Then  Jinks 

228 


New  Ideas  229 

buys  other  stuff  from  other  firms — stuff  not  half  as  good 
as  yours.  What  happens?  Folk  buy  Jinks's  marmalade 
one  time ;  it  'appens  to  be  your  make.  '  Good  stuff ! '  they 
said.  'We'll  always  get  Jinks's  marmalade  in  future.' 
Next  time  they  get  a  pot  of  Jinks's  marmalade  that  was 
not  made  by  you  at  all.  This  time  it's  off.  'Rotten 
stuff!'  That's  how  it  goes.  Now,  in  future,  we  ain't 
going  to  supply  Jinks,  nor  one  of  them.  We're  going 
straight  to  the  British  public.  Our  pots  has  got  to  have 
our  own  name  on  'em  and  no  one  else's — Johnson  & 
Ducrow.  See?" 

He  nodded. 

"We're  going  to  push  the  'John  Crow'  brand  all  the 
time!"  Sunny  said.  "The  best  of  everything!" 

"I've  often  thought  of  cutting  the  quality  a  bit  for  the 
sake  of  a  better  return!"  he  said. 

"Not  on  your  life,  you  won't!"  Sunny  said.  "We're 
going  bald-headed  for  quality  all  the  time!  The  'John 
Crow"  brand  stands  for  quality  and  purity;  the  same  as 
mother  makes.  Ask  for  what  you  want  and  see  that  you 
get  it,  and  mind  it's  '  John  Crow.'  Got  that  ?" 

He  nodded.  He  laughed,  carried  away  by  her 
enthusiasm. 

"But  it's  going  to  cost  money,  Sunny! " 

"We'll  manage!"  she  said.  "No  more  trade  deals. 
We  go  right  to  the  British  public.  We're  going  to  take 
the  British  public  into  our  confidence.  Come  and  see 
our  factories;  note  the  cleanliness  there.  Note  that  we 
use  the  best  English-grown  fruit — bar  oranges  and 
lemons,  of  course — the  best  sugar.  If  you  pay  a  penny  a 
pound  more  for  '  John  Crow '  specialties,  you  are  paying 
a  penny  for  purity  and  cleanliness.  Is  it  worth  it?  Yes, 
you  bet  it  is.  That's  my  idea.  I'll  chat  with  you  about 
this  to-morrow!  "  Sunny  said. 

"You're  right,  Sunny.     I  think  we  could  build  up  a 


230  Sunny  Ducrow 

good  trade;  but  it's  the  money  for  the  advertising.  Noth- 
ing's any  good  without  advertising!  " 

"We  will  go  over  that  to-morrow,"  Sunny  said.  "I 
think  the  name,  the  'John  Crow' — that's  good  enough; 
and  you'll  just  stick  under  it,  'The  Same  as  Mother 
Makes.'  That  fetches  them  all  the  time.  See?" 

He  did  see;  he  was  lost  in  thought  for  the  rest  of  the 
journey.  Sunny  had  put  new  ideas  into  his  head.  He 
had  stuck  in  a  rut  for  too  long.  Unless  he  got  out  of 
the  rut  there  was  a  likelihood  of  disaster. 

They  had  arrived.  The  long  and  joyous  journey  was 
at  an  end.  The  char-a-banc  drew  up  under  the  trees  of 
the  grand  old  forest. 

Epping!  It  is  a  place  of  sheer  delight.  The  rich, 
who  travel  in  trains  de  luxe  to  Scotland,  or  abroad  to  the 
Riviera,  have  heard  of  Epping  vaguely,  as  of  some  place 
where  common  people  go  to  enjoy  themselves,  and  do 
not  know  what  they  have  missed. 

It  is  the  grandest,  finest  forest  that  England  can 
boast  of.  Where  else  are  there  such  noble  trees,  such 
dells,  such  glimpses  of  perfect  woodland?  Where  else 
does  the  grass  grow  so  green  and  so  smooth?  Where 
else  does  laughter  ring  out  more  spontaneously  or  the 
voices  of  happy  merrymakers  rise  more  joyously  to  the 
blue  skies? 

Travel  far  and  wide,  but  you  will  never  beat  Epping. 
It  is  London's  beauty  spot;  it  is  the  natural  recreation 
ground  for  tired  Londoners;  and  here  they  forget  the 
grim,  close  streets,  the  humdrum,  everyday  life  of  toil. 
It's  a  breath  of  the  country.  It  is  more — it  is  a  breath  of 
paradise. 

Mrs.  Melkin  sat  under  a  tree  and  wept.  Tender 
memories  came  back  to  her.  She  sobbed  into  her  black- 
edged  pocket-handkerchief. 

"  It  takes  me  back  to  when  I  was  a  young  gal — me  a 


New  Ideas  231 

'appy  bride  'anging  on  my  'usband's  arm!"  she  said  to 
herself.  "Lor",  and  it's  the  same!  It  ain't  altered,  it 
ain't  been  built  over,  nor  nothing!  Oh — oh  dear! " 

She  wept  afresh,  for  it  was  a  thoroughly  enjoyable 
day. 

They  had  started  a  childish  game  of  hide-and-seek. 
People  forget  that  they  are  grown  up  and  become  children 
again  in  ttie  Epping  glades. 

Miss  Harris,  of  the  yellow  blouse,  was  eagerly  seeking 
"  Mr.  Dobson, "  as  they  called  him.  Dobrington,  for  his 
part,  had  successfully  dodged  Miss  Harris  and  had  found 
Sunny. 

"It's  ripping!"  he  said.  "The  day  of  my  life,  Sunny! 
I  can  never  thank  you  enough  for  letting  me  come!" 

"You're  enjoying  yourself?"  Sunny  asked. 

"Can  you  doubt  it?  "  he  said. 

"No,  I  don't!  But  you've  got  yourself  to  thank. 
Some  wouldn't.  Some  would  look  down  on  us,  you  don't ; 
that's  because  you're  all  right!"  she  said.  She  held  out 
her  hand  to  him  suddenly.  Her  eyes  met  his  frankly  and 
kindly.  "You  were  right  just  now,"  she  said.  "You're 
my  friend  too.  You're  not  an  old  friend  like  these  here, 
but  you  are  a  new  friend,  and  none  the  less  you're  my 
friend,  and  I'm  glad  to  have  you  for  a  friend!  " 

He  bent  his  head  and  kissed  her  finger. 

"  How  they'd  laugh  at  you  for  doing  that ! "  she  said. 

"You — you  mean  they  kiss  in  other  ways  here?" 

She  nodded. 

"Then  I — I  must  do  in  Rome  as  the  Romans  do,  eh, 
Sunny?" 

Sunny  flushed.  He  put  his  arms  around  her  suddenly 
and  kissed  her  on  the  cheek. 

" They'd  understand  that ! "  Sunny  said.    "So  do  I ! " 

She  kissed  him  back,  then  took  his  hand  and,  like  the 
child  she  was,  raced  with  him  through  the  woods,  till  Miss 


232  Sunny  Ducrow 

Harris,  of  the  yellow  blouse,  spying  them,  gave  chase  and 
ran  them  to  earth. 

"It  all  seems  just — just  wonderful  to  me!"  Evelyn 
Cliff orde  said.  She  and  Bert  had  wandered  away  through 
the  woods.  "Just  wonderful!"  She  drew  a  long  breath. 
"A  little  while  ago,  a  short  week  ago,  I  was  the  most 
lonely,  miserable;  unhappy  girl  in  the  world.  I  could  see 
no  hope  for  happiness,  or  anything  else.  I " — she  paused ; 
her  face  flushed,  then  paled — "I — I  won't  think  of  it  all 
now.  I'm  glad  to  be  here.  I'm  happier  this  day  than  I 
have  been  for  years ! " 

"So'm  I!"  Bert  said.     He  looked  at  her. 

"Why?  "she  said. 

Bert  turned  red. 

"You're  here,  ain't  you?"  he  said. 

The  girl  flushed  too.  She  said  nothing,  nor  did  Bert. 
Presently,  as  they  walked,  her  hand  managed  to  slip  into 
his,  and  they  went  hand  in  hand;  it  is  the  Epping  way. 

Luncheon  was  on  the  green  grass  under  the  trees,  and 
Sunny  did  the  honors,  ably  supported  by  Mr.  Johnson. 

There  was  beer  for  Bill  Wilkins  and  others  who  liked 
it.  There  was  lemonade  and  ginger-beer  and  such-like 
for  those  of  simpler  tastes.  There  was  pigeon-pie  and 
steak-pie  and  other  pies,  and  a  ham  and  tongues  and 
hard-boiled  eggs,  and  mountains  of  pastry.  And,  best 
of  all,  there  was  appetite  and  a  proper  appreciation  of 
Sunny 's  bounty. 

Bert  saw  to  Evelyn's  plate  before  his  own. 

"You're  eating  nothing,  Bert!"  she  whispered. 

"I — I  can't.  I'm  generally  one  for  my  meals,  too," 
he  said.  "But  to-day,  somehow,  and — and  you  beside 
me —  Have  a  bit  more  'am? " 

Dobrington  overheard.  "'Here  with  a  loaf  beneath 
"this  bough,  a  book  of  verse,  a  flask  of  wine,  and  thou,'" 
he  quoted. 


New  Ideas  233 

"We  ain't  got  no  wine, "  said  Bert.  "And  as  for  books 
of  verses,  we're  having  a  holiday,  we  are!" 

Dobrington  smiled.  He  toasted  Bill  Wilkins  in  a  glass 
of  ale. 

"And  'ere's  to  you, "  Bill  said,  "and  many  of  'em,  and 
hope  to  see  you  again.  You're  our  sort,  you  are,  Dobson ! " 

A  great  compliment  from  Bill,  and  Sunny  clapped 
her  hands. 

"Order!  Silence!"  Bill  roared  suddenly.  "Speech!" 
He  rose  to  his  feet ;  he  looked  red  and  awkward. 

"I  got  a  few  remarks  to  make,"  he  said.  "I  ain't 
much  in  the  spouting  line.  Come  to  that,  I  ain't  got  the 
knack  of  saying  nice  things  pretty.  See?  Only  what  I 
got  to  say  is  this.  This  'ere  is  a  'appy  day  for  all  of  us. 
We're  'appy  to  be  'ere  out  in  the  open,  under  the  sky, 
with  the  trees  and  grass  and  shrubs  and  birds  and  things 
around  us.  We're  'appy  to  'ave  our  health  and  our 
appetites  and  like  that,  but  we  are  'appiest  of  all  'aving 
our  little  Sunny  back  with  us,  boys  and  gels.  Elizabeth 
Ann  she  used  to  be,  but  one  day  it  come  to  me  she  was 
like  a  streak  of  sunshine  in  the  place.  So  I  up  and  called 
'er  Sunny,  and  Sunny  it's  been  from  that  day,  and  Sunny 
it'll  be  to  the  end."  He  paused.  "Boys  and  gels  and 
Mr.  Johnson,  likewise  Mr.  Dobson — a  stranger,  but  a 
good  sort — I  want  you  all  to  stand  up  and  drink  'er  'ealth. 
Sunny  Ducrow!  And  may  Heaven  bless  her  and  give 
'er  all  she  arsts  of  life!  May  she  be  always  as  she  is 
now — the  'appiest,  brightest,  best,  and  dearest  kid  as  ever 
trampled  on  this  earth !  Sunny  Ducrow ! " 

They  rose,  all  of  them;  they  lifted  their  glass  of  beer, 
of  lemonade,  or  soda-water,  as  the  case  might  be. 

"Sunny  Ducrow!"  they  said.    "Sunny!" 

And  Sunny  sat  there  alone  on  the  green  grass.  The 
tears  rose  in  her  bright  eyes  and  streamed  slowly  down 
her  cheeks. 


234  Sunny  Ducrow 

Mrs.  Melkin,  in  the  background,  broke  into  loud  sobs 
of  supreme  anguish. 

"There — there  is  something  that  I — I  would  like  to 
say ! "  Evelyn  Clifforde's  voice  trembled  a  little;  her  face 
was  white. 

They  were  silent. 

"I  am  one  of  Sunny's  new  friends,  like  Mr.  Dobson, 
I  was  friendless,  poor,  and  lonely,  helpless,  and  in  great 
danger.  She — "  She  paused.  "I  can't  tell  you  now. 
I  was  alone  and  without  a  friend.  Before  me  was  a  great 
and  terrible  danger.  I  did  not  care.  I  had  lost  all  fear, 
as  I  had  lost  all  hope.  I  stood  on  the  threshold;  another 
step,  and  it  would  have  been  over.  And  then  she — she 
stretched  out  her  little  hand  to  me;  she  drew  me  back; 
she  put  her  arms  around  me  and  kissed  me,  and  woke 
hope  and  love  again  in  my  heart.  She — she  saved  me 
from  something  worse  than  death — "  The  girl's  voice 
broke.  "You  all  say,  'Heaven  bless  Sunny  Ducrow!' 
I  can  say  it  from  my  heart !  Heaven  bless  her !  Heaven 
bless  the  dearest,  truest,  best  friend  that  ever  a  girl  had ! 
Heaven  bless  her!  " 

Silence  for  a  moment.  The  girls  looked  at  one  another. 
The  men  stood  awkwardly.  Then  big  Bill  Wilkins 
stepped  forward,  took  her  hand,  and  held  it  tightly. 

"And  Heaven  bless  you  too,  my  dear, "  he  said,  "and 
make  you  a  happy  woman  one  of  these  'ere  days!"  He 
stooped  and  kissed  her,  and  cared  nothing  that  Bert 
glared  at  him  with  fine  fury  in  his  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE   FUTURE 

BACK  in  the  gray  dusk,  back  through  the  streets  as  the 
lamps  were  being  lighted.  Back  full  early,  for  the 
day's  pleasures  were  not  yet  over.  The  char-a-banc  did 
not  take  them  back  to  Cutway  Street ;  it  drew  up  before 
the  brilliantly  lighted  portals  of  the  Realm. 

Sunny  had  left  them  at  Snaresbrook  and  had  gone 
back  by  train  to  save  time.  With  her  were  Evelyn  and 
Bert  and  Dobrington. 

"It's  been  a  ripping  day!"  Dobrington  said.  "I 
wouldn't  have  missed  it,  Sunny,  for  all  the  world!" 

They  had  one  end  of  the  first-class  carriage  to  them- 
selves. Bert  and  Evelyn  occupied  the  far  end.  Sunny 
glanced  across  at  them.  She  smiled;  her  eyes  danced. 

"You  were  saying?"  she  asked. 

"  I  said  it's  been  the  day  of  my  life! "  He,  too,  glanced 
at  Bert.  "I  thought,"  he  said  in  a  whisper — "once  you 
told  me " 

"Looks  like  I'll  be  having  him  up  for  breach  of 
promise  one  of  these  days,  don't  it?"  Sunny  said,  with 
a  laugh. 

Dobrington  laughed  too,  and  there  was  sheer  enjoy- 
ment and  happiness  in  his  laughter. 

"I  wonder  what  they  will  like  best  for  a  wedding 
present?"  he  inquired.  "By  George,  I'll  give  them  a 
stunner!" 

And  now  they  were  at  the  Realm.  They  were  in 

235 


236  Sunny  Ducrow 

good  time.  Bert  had  gone  to  fill  his  engagement  at 
Hemrningway's. 

Dobrington  was  in  front  tcnnight,  so  were  the  hands 
from  Johnson's  Pickle  Factory,  making  a  solid  square  in 
the  very  middle  of  the  gallery. 

The  curtain  was  up;  the  performance  commenced. 

"Pass  it  along!"  Bill  Wilkins  whispered.  "When  she 
comes  on,  give  voice,  boys  and  gelsi  Shout  for  her. 
Remember  she's  one  of  us!  Now  then,  are  you  ready?" 

It  was  Sunny's  cue;  she  stepped  on  to  the  stage. 
Usually  she  was  greeted  with  some  little  applause,  for 
her  name  was  becoming  well  known  now,  but  to-night! 
To-night  the  whole  house  rang  with  a  sudden  shout 
of  "Sunny!  Sunny!  Sunny!"  One  long,  bellowing  roar 
from  the  gallery.  It  was  taken  up  in  a  moment  by  the 
pit  and  the  rest  of  the  gallery.  The  house  was  filled  with 
that  one  word — her  name! 

Bill  Wilkins  stood  up  and  waved  his  hat  wildy.  It 
whirled  out  of  his  hand  and  fell  into  the  stalls.  He 
grasped  someone  else's  hat,  and  waved  it  till  that  fol- 
lowed his  own. 

"Hurrah,  hurrah!"  he  shouted.  "What's  the  matter 
with  Sunny  Ducrow?" 

"She's  all  right!"  they  answered. 

It  was  some  considerable  time  before  the  performance 
was  allowed  to  go  on. 

Sunny  stepped  forward  to  the  footlights. 

"You,"  she  said,  "you,  Bill  Wilkins  and  the  rest, 
you've  got  to  be  quiet  here,"  she  said.  "We  aren't  at 
Epping  now!" 

"Hurrah,  hurrah!"  shouted  Alf  Harris.  In  his  excite- 
ment he  leaned  perilously  over  the  edge  of  the  gallery. 
He  lost  his  balance.  There  might  have  been  a  tragedy, 
but  someone  just  managed  to  catch  him  by  the  heels 
and  haul  him  back  to  safety. 


The  Future  237 

And  then  at  last  the  revue  was  allowed  to  go  on. 

But  Sunny 's  song  was  the  signal  for  a  fresh  demon- 
stration. This  time  the  whole  house — pit,  stalls,  dress 
circle,  and  all — joined  in.  Sunny  had  an  ovation.  Her 
song  always  went,  but  it  went  to-night  as  never  before. 

The  curtain  came  down  at  last;  the  long  day  was 
over.  Tired  and  happy,  they  made  their  way  from  the 
gallery. 

Tired  and  happy,  Sunny  put  on  her  hat,  in  her  dressing- 
room. 

" It's  been  splendid,  hasn't  it?  It's  all  been  splendid! " 
she  said  to  Evelyn. 

"It's  been  the  happiest  day  I  have  known  for  many, 
many  years.  I  never  thought  I'd  be  as  happy  as  I've 
been  to-day!"  the  girl  said. 

"And  this  isn't  nothing  to  what  you'll  be  one  day, 
Evy ! "  Sunny  said.  She  tucked  her  friend's  hand  through 
her  arm. 

"Now  we'll  go  home.  I  expect  by  this  time  aunt's 
cried  herself  to  sleep  1"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

AN  APPEAL 

WELL,  it's  not  our  trouble,"  Bert  said.  "He's  old 
enough  to  go  out  without  a  collar  and  lead  on." 

Sunny  looked  grave. 

"  I  shouldn't  like  to  think  that  anyone  I  liked  so  much 
as  I  do  him,  should  come  to  any  harm,"  she  said. 

Evelyn  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Men  are  all  the  same,"  she  said.  "Sometimes  I 
begin  to  think  there's  not  one  nice  man  in  the  world!" 

Bert  shifted  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"Present  company  always  excepted!"  Evelyn  said. 

"And  you  mean  to  say,"  Sunny  said,  "that  he  goes 
about  with  her?" 

"I  hate  speaking  about  anyone,  only  everyone  knows 
—  "  Evelyn  paused. 

"Hush '."Sunny  said. 

Silence  fell  on  them  all  three.  Sunny's  pretty  face 
looked  very  grave,  a  little  careworn  even.  A  full  month 
had  passed  since  that  day  at  Epping,  and  many  things 
had  been  crowded  into  these  four  weeks.  There  was  the 
prospect  of  a  big  and  gorgeous  revue — something  new  and 
startling  in  the  way  of  revues,  something  that  would  take 
London  by  storm — being  put  on  at  the  Realm  before  very 
long;  and  it  was  being  whispered  that  there  would  be  a 
big  part  for  Sunny  Ducrow.  But  Sunny  herself  had  said 
nothing  on  the  subject.  Then  there  had  been  vast 
changes,  considering  the  time  had  been  so  short,  at  the 

238 


An  Appeal  239 

pickle  factory.  Sunny  had  had  a  long  interview  with 
Mossy  Bernstein,  and  that  good-natured  little  man, 
clever  and  far-seeing,  had  allowed  himself  to  be  per- 
suaded by  Sunny's  eloquence.  More  money  had  been 
found  for  Johnson's,  and  a  big  advertising  campaign  had 
been  commenced.  Henceforth  Johnson  &  Ducrow  would 
serve  the  public  direct,  and  not  through  the  wholesale 
houses,  who  stuck  on  their  own  labels. 

But  this  matter  that  the  three  were  talking  over  this 
morning  was  less  pleasant  than  the  rest.  It  concerned 
Lord  Dobrington,  "The  Vis-count,"  as  Bert  persisted  in 
calling  him. 

Only  twice  since  that  excursion  into  Epping  had 
Sunny  seen  him.  She  had  liked  him  sincerely,  liked  him 
as  a  good,  true,  honest,  and  honorable  friend,  and  it  had 
hurt  her  to  see  him  as  she  had.  But  she  had  said  nothing. 
It  was  Bert  who  had  blurted  out  the  truth  this  morning. 

"Going  to  the  dawgs,  he  is!"  Bert  said,  and  then 
looked  round  to  see  the  effect  of  his  statement.  Sunny 
turned  a  shade  white;  Evelyn,  looking  up  from  her 
needlework,  nodded. 

"Everyone  knows  what  she  is!"  Evelyn  said.  "Bar- 
stowe  would  not  have  her  on  any  of  his  halls.  I — " 
She  paused  and  flushed,  and  then  bent  her  head  over  her 
needlework. 

There  was  silence  between  them.  Sunny's  face  was 
still  white;  her  brows  were  contracted  into  a  frown. 

"Who  is  she,  who  is  she,  anyhow  ? ' '  she  asked  suddenly. 

"Who?  Gilly  Casson?"  Evelyn  said.  "It  doesn't 
matter  who  she  is;  it's  what  she  is!"  She  looked  up, 
her  eyes  and  Bert's  met,  Bert  turned  red. 

"Best  say  nothing  about  her,"  he  said.  "One  thing, 
she  isn't  the  sort  you'd  care  to  know  anything  about, 
Sunny.  Not  in  your  line,  nor — nor  Evelyn's  either,  nor 
mine,  come  to  that!" 


240  Sunny  Ducrow 

Sunny  sighed. 

"I've  heard  about  her,"  she  said.  "She — she  takes  a 
little  more  than  is  good  for  her." 

"That's  right!"  Bert  said.  "And  he's  getting  to  be  as 
bad;  so  they  say." 

Sunny  shivered. 

"What  a  shame!  A  nice  chap  like  him,  such  a  nice, 
clean  sort  of  chap!  Oh,  it's  a  shame,  a  shame!  That's 
what  it  is!" 

"And  what  makes  it  more  surprising  to  me,"  Evelyn 
said,  "is  that  once  I  thought  he — he  thought  such  an 
awful  lot  of  you,  Sunny!" 

"So  he  did,  and  so  did  I  of  him!"  Sunny  said.  "We 
were  good  friends,  Dobrington  and  me.  You  remember 
that  day  in  Epping?" 

"It  was  just  after  that  he  met  her.  She  was  dancing 
at  the  Mono,  getting  about  three  quid  a  week.  Then 
Dobrington  saw  her;  he  went  mad  about  her.  He  got 
her  a  lot  of  Press  notices — must  have  cost  him  pretty 
dear.  Anyhow,  she  began  to  go  up.  I  know  there  was 
half  a  dozen  managers  crazy  to  get  her.  Old  Rostheimer 
was  mad  about  it,  but  Hemmingway  wouldn't  have  it — 
more  credit  to  him!  And  Rostheimer  had  a  fearful  row 
with  him.  I  heard  'em — "  Bert  paused.  "Anyhow, 
she's  getting  about  eighty  pounds  a  week,  and  you  don't 
pick  up  a  paper  unless  you  see  her  in  it,  either  as  a  picture 
or  as  an  advertisement  for  tooth-wash,  or  something. 
All  done  in  a  month,  too!" 

"And  at  Dobrington's  expense, "  Evelyn  said.  "What 
fools  some  men  are !  And  to  look  at  her — she's  nothing ! " 

"Hush!"  Sunny  said.  She  never  talked  of  other 
women  that  way;  she  did  not  like  to  hear  it,  either — it 
hurt  her. 

"Perhaps  she  means  to  be  nice,"  she  said. 

Bert  scoffed. 


An  Appeal  241 

"She  means  to  get  on!"  Evelyn  said. 

"I  don't  blame  her  for  that;  that's  what  I're  always 
meant  to  do  myself!"  Sunny  said. 

"But  your  way  and  her  way  are  different,"  Evelyn 
said.  "Your  way  is  to  work  and  do  your  best  for  your- 
self, and  go  straight  and  honestly,  and  help  others  at 
the  same  time  as  you  are  helping  yourself — just  as  you 
helped  me  and " 

"That's  nothing!"  Sunny  whispered.  She  slipped  her 
hand  into  Evelyn's. 

"Her  way  is  different.  Her  way  is  to  get  hold  of  some 
young  fool  like  Dobrington  and  make  him  spend  his 
money  on  her,  then  marry  him  and  become  a  fine  Society 
woman.  Oh,  he's  rich  enough  even  for  her !  We  all  know 
that.  I  bet  you  they  are  married  before  the  year's  out ! " 

"I'd  be  sorry!"  Sunny  said.  She  turned  and  stared 
out  of  the  window.  "I'd  hate  to  think  he  had  married 
a  girl  like  that.  He  ought  to  have  a  good  wife.  I'm 
sorry  about  it,  more  sorry  than  I  can  say.  I  liked  him 
lots,  and —  She  paused.  The  tears  had  come  into  her 
eyes ;  she  forced  them  back.  Yes,  she  had  liked  Dobring- 
ton, had  thought  him  a  good  fellow,  a  good  companion, 
a  true  friend;  and  now  it  seemed  as  if  it  was  all  going 
to  pieces. 

Bert  saw  that  she  was  troubled  and  worried,  and 
turned  the  conversation.  Time  was  going  on;  of  Sunny 's 
six  months  with  the  Realm  people,  more  than  half  had 
passed.  His  own  engagement  with  Hemmingway  would 
come  to  a  natural  conclusion  at  the  end  of  the  present 
production.  It  was  an  open  secret  that  Bert  was  making 
a  big  success.  He  was  so  successful  that  his  name  not 
only  appeared  in  the  programmes,  but  in  the  newspaper 
advertisements  as  well.  Bert's  fame  was  spreading. 
People  heard  of  him  and  came  to  see  him,  and  went 
away  not  disappointed. 

16 


242  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Me  and  you  ought  to  be  playing  in  the  same  house; 
we  did!"  he  said  to  Sunny. 

"Yes,"  Sunny  said.  "I've  been  thinking  about  that 
sketch.  We've  finished  it,  and  it's  pretty  good — good 
enough  to  try!" 

Bert  shook  his  head.  He  had  developed  some  business 
capacity. 

"I've  been  thinking  about  that,"  he  said.  "We've 
got  to  put  that  sketch  aside  just  yet.  Tell  you  why. 
We've  got  to  make  money.  We  need  it.  When  we've 
made  a  bit,  and  can  afford  to  take  a  risk,  we'll  put  that 
sketch  on  ourselves.  If  we  lose,  it  won't  break  us! 
See?" 

"You're  right!"  Sunny  said.  "They've  treated  me 
jolly  well  at  the  Realm.  Arthur  Curtiss  is  a  dear;  so's 
Barstowe,  only  he  don't  want  anyone  to  know  it.  You've 
got  to  get  a  job  there  along  with  me  in  the  next  pro- 
duction, Bert." 

"I  shan't  never  get  a  job  at  the  Realm, "  Bert  said. 

"Betcher!"  Sunny  said. 

"Betcher  I  don't!"  Bert  said. 

Sunny  nodded. 

"  I'm  going  to  talk  to  Barstowe  about  you.  Don't  you 
settle  anything,  Bert,  till  you've  heard." 

Bert  rose.    It  was  time  for  him  to  go. 

"I'll  wait  a  bit.  Hemmingway  spoke  to  me  about 
fixing  up  for  the  new  production  when  it  comes  off,  but 
I  didn't  say  anything.  I  waited  to  see  what  was  going 
to  happen.  So-long,  Sunny!" 

Sunny  turned  and  stared  out  of  the  window.  She  had 
a  reason. 

"So— so-long,  Evy!"  Bert  said. 

Evelyn  looked  up ;  her  pretty  face  flushed  a  little. 

"Good — good-bye,  Bert!"  she  said.  She  dropped  her 
eyes,  so  that  her  lashes  touched  her  cheeks;  her  hand, 


An  Appeal  243 

holding  the  needle  and  thread  with  which  she  was  doing 
her  mending,  trembled  a  little. 

Bert  looked  at  her.  He  gave  a  great  sigh.  He  took 
a  step  towards  her,  paused,  and  then  made  for  the  door. 

"So-long,  all!"  he  said,  and  went  out. 

Sunny  turned  and  looked  at  Evelyn. 

"Gone,  has  he?"  she  asked. 

"Yes." 

"Never  says  much,  does  he?  That's  like  Bert;  ain't 
got  much  courage  in  some  things.  But  Bert's  all  right," 
Sunny  said.  "Straight  and  honest  and  sober — clean 
through  and  through,  Bert  is." 

"I— I  know!"  Evelyn  said. 

"Of  course,  being  engaged  to  Bert — "  Sunny  began. 

"You — you  mean,  I — that  is — "  Evelyn  stammered. 

"Well,  sort  of  engaged,"  Sunny  said.  "Me  and  Bert 
are  going  to  be  married  when  I'm  forty — unless  we  alter 
our  minds  in  between.  If  he  finds  someone  else  I  shan't 
worry  particularly!" 

Evelyn  laughed  a  little  unsteadily,  then  she  went  on 
Nyith  her  sewing. 

Mr.  Gibbins  had  arrived  to  give  Sunny  her  hour's 
tr.ition.  Whatever  happened,  Sunny  never  missed  this 
h^  *tr  with  the  gentle,  painstaking  old  man.  Day  by  day, 
week  after  week,  Gibbins  came,  and  Sunny  studied  hard. 
However  busy  she  might  be,  she  never  begrudged  the 
hour  that  she  spent  with  the  old  man.  And  she  was  a 
pupil  to  be  proud  of — intelligent  and  keen  to  learn. 
Sunny  was  progressing  rapidly. 

"That  child  is  a  genius!"  old  Gibbins  said  to  Mrs. 
Melkin.  "She  can  learn  anything  she  wants  to  learn; 
she  can  bring  her  whole  intellect  to  bear  on  a  subject 
until  she  has  mastered  it.  I  never  saw  such  a  pupil  as 
her  in  my  life!" 

"Takes  after  'er  mother's  side  of  the  family,"  Mrs. 


244  Sunny  Ducrow 

Melkin  said.  "Me!  I  was  always  the  same.  The 
number  of  sustificates  I  got  you'd  be  surprised  when  I 
was  a  gel  at  school!" 

Evelyn  went  on  with  her  needlework  while  she  listened 
to  Sunny  taking  her  lesson.  The  lesson  was  barely  over 
when  there  came  a  startling  double  rap  on  the  front  door. 
A  few  moments  later  the  landlady  came  up. 

"There's  a  lady  arsting  to  see  you,  Miss  Ducrow; 
come  in  a  big  motor-car,  she  has,  and  seemed  quite  the 
lady.  What'll  I  do  about  it? " 

Mr.  Gibbins  was  preparing  to  go;  he  was  putting  the 
books  away;  his  work  with  Sunny  was  over  for  the  day. 

"  Wants  to  see  you  pertickler  and  private! "  the  woman 
said. 

"I'll  see  her!"  Sunny  said. 

Evelyn  gathered  up  her  needlework. 

"  I'll  go  into  the  bedroom  till  she's  gone, "  she  said. 

"So-long  till  to-morrow!"  Sunny  shook  hands  with 
Gibbins.  "And  thank  you  so  much  for  being  so  patient 
with  me!" 

"  Patient,  my  dear !  Never  was  a  man's  patience  taxed 
less!  It's  a  sheer  delight  to  teach  you!"  he  said.  "One 
day  I  shall  miss — "  He  paused  sadly. 

"  No,  you  won't !"  Sunny  said  quickly.  "  Something'll 
turn  up  before  I  stop  having  lessons.  You  see  if  it 
don't!" 

He  was  gone.  He  stood  aside  on  the  narrow  stairs  to 
allow  a  veiled  lady  to  ascend.  She  made  him  a  faint 
inclination  of  her  stately  head. 

Sunny  stood  by  the  door. 

"Come  inside!"  she  srid  pleasantly.  "You  want  to 
see  me?" 

"Yes,  I  want  to  see  you,  Miss  Ducrow." 

Sunny  looked  at  her  visitor;  there  was  something 
familiar  in  the  voice,  but  her  face  was  so  covered  by  a 


An  Appeal  245 

heavy  veil  that  it  was  quite  impossible  to  make  out  who 
she  was. 

"Well,  come  in  and  sit  down!"  she  said.  "Is  it  any- 
thing to  do  with  advertising? " 

"No,  not  with " 

"Anything  to  do  with  the  stage  or  the  pickle  factory? " 

"With — with  neither!"  the  visitor  said. 

"Photography  very  like?"  Sunny  said.  "Or  picture 
palaces  ? ' '  She  smiled. 

"No." 

Sunny  wrinkled  her  smooth  forehead. 

"Then  yeu've  got  me  all  right!"  she  said.  "Say,  who 
are  you,  and  what  do  you  want  with  me? " 

The  visitor  raised  her  veil,  and  Sunny  stared  at  her. 
Surely  somewhere  she  had  seen  those  pale,  proud,  beauti- 
ful features  before!  The  face  was  familiar,  but  she  could 
not  place  it. 

"I  am  Lady  Blessendale,"  the  visitor  said. 

"Law!"  Sunny  gasped.  "So  you  are,  and  I  didn't 
tumble  to  it!  You  see,  the  first  time  I  saw  you  it  was 
only  for  a  moment,  coming  out  of  Hurlingham's  studio; 
then,  when  I  saw  you  at  the  concert,  you  were  not  dressed 
in  outdoor  things,  so " 

"I  quite  understand.  You  will  think  it  strange  that  I 
have  come  to  see  you,  Miss  Ducrow." 

"Not  a  bit!"  Sunny  said,  though  in  her  mind  she  did 
think  it  strange. 

"  In — in  fact,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  am  terribly  worried, 
very  anxious,  and  I  have  come  to  you  as  one  friend  to 
another.  You  are  only  a  child,  our  positions  in  life  are 
different,  yet  there  is  about  you  something  so  frank,  some- 
thing so  transparently  honest  and  honorable,  that — I — I 
thought  of  you,  and  no  sooner  had  I  thought  of  you  than 
I  resolved  to  see  you  and  ask  you  to  help  me  if  you 
could." 


246  Sunny  Ducrow 

"I'm  glad  you  came!"  Sunny  said  gently.  "Sit 
down!"  She  took  the  Countess's  hand. 

"Miss  Ducrow,"  her  ladyship  said,  "when  one  is 
troubled  and  anxious — almost  at  one's  wits'  ends,  as  I 
am — one  is  like  the  drowning  man  who  is  supposed  to 
clutch  at  a  straw." 

"And  I  am  the  straw?"  Sunny  asked. 

"I— I  did  not  quite  mean  that!" 

"Never  mind,  it's  near  enough!  Only,  no  straw  never 
saved  no  drowning  man  yet!  There  is  only  one  thing  to 
do" — Sunny  paused — "and  that  is,  to  hold  your  head  up 
and  keep  smiling  all  the  time!" 

"Sometimes  it  is  difficult — sometimes  utterly  im- 
possible. I — I  tried  not  to  believe.  I  had  seen  veiled 
suggestions  in  some  of  the  lower-class  so-called  Society 
papers — those  papers  that  appeal  to  a  vulgar  section  of 
the  public  by  making  veiled  attacks  on  persons  of  good 
position.  People  have  sent  me  copies  of  these  papers 
marked  so  that  I  should  not  miss  the  horrible  things!" 
She  shuddered.  ' '  When  one  is  in  trouble,  one  finds  many 
kind  friends  to  help  heap  the  burden  of  trouble  on  to  one's 
shoulders,  Miss  Ducrow!" 

She  spoke  bitterly;  her  face  was  hard  and  cold;  there 
was  no  suggestion  of  tears  in  her  beautiful  eyes.  Sunny 
looked  at  her  wonderingly,  then  slowly  she  began  to 
understand.  This  woman  was  suffering  terribly,  but  her 
natural  pride  forbade  her  breaking  down  like  another 
woman  might. 

"You've  come  to  see  me!"  Sunny  said.  "There's 
something  you  think  I  might  perhaps  help  you  with! 
Just  tell  me  what  it  is  and,  if  it  is  possible,  I'll  do 
it!" 

"You  are  a  good  little  thing!"  her  ladyship  said.  "If 
— if  it  was  only — "  She  paused;  she  looked  steadfastly 
at  Sunny. 


An  Appeal  247 

"Who  was  the  old  man  I  passed  on  the  stairs?"  she 
asked. 

' '  Him  ?   That  was  Mr.  Gibbins,  my  tutor, ' '  Sunny  said. 

"Your  tutor!    Then  you  have " 

"Of  course!  You  see,  I  started  life" — Sunny  hesi- 
tated— "started  life  with  the  odds  against  me  a  bit!" 
She  laughed.  "I  hadn't  much  time  for  school.  I  did  my 
best,  but  I  kept  away  a  good  bit — had  to,  you  know.  It 
kept  the  School  Board  Inspector  busy  hunting  for  me. 
So  I  did  a  bit  of  good  that  way ! "  She  laughed.  "Then 
I  got  into  the  pickles,  you  know,  and  then  on  to  the  stage. 
And  then  I  made  up  my  mind  I'd  learn  things,  so  I  got 
Mr.  Gibbins  to  come,  and  he^s  been  coming  months  now 
and  teaching  me  and  making  me  read  with  him  to  im- 
prove myself.  However,  you  did  not  come  here  to  hear 
about  all  that,  did  you?"  She  smiled. 

"No,  I  am  afraid  I  did  not!  I  came  to  ask  you  to 
help  me  if  you  could.  I  remembered  that  my  son  thought 
a  great  deal  of  you.  He  liked  you;  he  used  to  speak  to 
me  sometimes  about  you  in  a  manner  that  I  thought 
almost  exaggerated.  You  are  only  a  child,  of  course; 
but  he  admired  you  immensely  and  liked  you  as  a  friend. 
He  told  me  about  that  trip  to  Epping  and  how  he  enjoyed 
himself,  and  how  much  you  were  thought  of  by  your  old 
friends.  In  fact,  Stanley  sang  your  praises  to  me  till  I 
began  to  feel  just  a  little — a  little  anxious — till  I  reflected 
that,  after  all,  you  were  only  a  child! " 

"That's  all,"  Sunny  said.    "Go  on!  " 

"It  is  very  difficult  for  me  to  go  on,"  her  ladyship 
said.  "Miss  Ducrow,  can  you  not  imagine  that  it  cost 
my  pride  something  for  me  to  come  here  to  you  ? " 

"I  know  it  did.  I  been  thinking  about  that  all  the 
time'."  Sunny  said.  "Go  on!  You've  got  nothing  to 
worry  about."  She  held  out  her  hand.  "I'm  glad  to  see 
you,  and  if  I  could  do  anything  to  help  you  I'd  be  proud 


248  Sunny  Ducrow 

and  happy,  because  I  liked  him  just  as  he  liked  me.  I 
thought  he  was  the  best  and  the  nicest " 

"And  so  he  was  till — till  he  met  this — this  horrible 
woman."  Her  ladyship  shuddered.  "Miss  Ducrow,  I 
want  you  to  help  me  to  save  my  son  from  the  claws  of 
this  terrible  woman !  You  have  heard — you  surely  have 
heard?" 

"I've  heard  something,"  Sunny  said.  "We  were  only 
talking  about  it  just  now — Bert,  Evelyn,  and  me.  And 
they  were  saying  what  a  pity  it  was." 

"Pity!  It  is  something  more  than  a  pity!  It  is 
horrible — unbearable — intolerable  to  me,  his  mother. 
What  can  I  do?  What — what  can  I  do?  He  is  stubborn 
and  obstinate,  yet  good.  He  tells  me  that  he  loves  this 
creature,  and  that  he  will  never  be  happy  till  she  is  his 
wife.  His  wife— think  of  that!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE  LION  AND  THE  MOUSE 

HER  ladyship  rose  and  paced  the  room  with  short, 
nervous  steps.  "His  wife,  Miss  Ducrow!  Ours  is 
a  proud  family — we  have  been  proud  of  our  unsullied 
blood  for  many  generations;  and — and  now  my  son,  my 
eldest  and  only  son,  thinks  of  marrying  this  woman,  a 
dancer,  a  creature  of  the  gutter,  and  putting  her  into  the 
place  that  is  now  mine!  Think  what  it  means  to  me,  the 
shame  of  thinking  that  such  as  she  can  come  after  me; 
that  by  one  act  he  can  sweep  aside  all  the  sacred  traditions 
of  our  family — a  nobody,  a  lowly  born,  coarse " 

"Wait  a  bit!"  Sunny  said.  "Wait  a  bit!  It's  like 
this  with  me.  I'm  not  so  keen  about  this  here  tradition. 
I  don't  see  it  is  much  to  us.  If  she's  a  nice,  good,  sweet, 
loving  girl,  and  he  loves  her,  that's  everything.  Tradi- 
tions aren't  going  to  make  up  for  them  not  loving  one 
another,  nor  isn't  family  pride  and — and  geographical 
trees,  or  whatever  you  call  'em.  If  she's  a  good  girl,  and 
sweet  and  nice  and  pretty,  and  he  loves  her,  what  does 
it  matter  where  she  came  from  so  long  as  she  came  clean? 
See?" 

"I  do  see,  and  I  think,  to  a  certain  extent,  you  may  be 
right;  but  this  woman  is  not  good,  she  is  not  nice,  she 
does  not  love  my  poor,  misguided  boy.  She  wants  his 
money,  his  position,  his  title,  and  he  is  so  madly,  blindly 
infatuated  that  he  cannot  see  it.  I  have  talked  to  him; 
my  solicitors  have  spoken  to  him.  I  dread,  absolutely 

249 


250  Sunny  Ducrow 

dread  the  knowledge  reaching  his  father,  yet  it  must  in 
time.  Then  I  thought  of  you.  I  remembered  how  much 
he  admired  you.  I  wonder  if  you  could  have  any  influ- 
ence with  him  to  part  him  from  this  woman,  this  creature 
who  calls  herself  Gilly  Casson!"  She  shuddered  as  she 
uttered  the  name.  "  If  you  cannot,  or  do  not  wish  to  help 
me,  will  you  say  so?"  her  ladyship  said;  "and  then  I 
will  go,  apologizing  to  you  for  wasting  your  time." 

"You  sit  still, "  Sunny  said;  "sit  there.  Gilly  Casson? 
Yes;  I  have  heard  about  her." 

"And  nothing  to  her  good  or  her  credit?" 

"I  don't  like  talking  about  folk,  but  it —  People  say 
she's  not — "  Sunny  paused. 

"Is  she,  in  your  opinion,  a  fit  wife  for  my  son,  Lord 
Dobrington?" 

"I  don't  think  she  is!"  Sunny  said. 

"  Then  will  you  help  me — no  matter  how,  in  any  way — 
do  something  to — to  open  his  eyes  ?  He  thinks  her  perfec- 
tion; she  has  blinded  him;  his  brain  has  turned.  One  day 
he  will  come  to  his  senses  and  will  realize  with  horror 
what  he  has  done  unless  we  can  drag  him  from  the  verge 
of  the  precipice  now.  For  his  own  sake,  for  mine,  for  his 
father's,  for  the  sake  of  our  family  traditions,  our  pride, 
will  you  help  me?" 

"I  don't  see  what  I  can  do,  but  if  I  can  do  something 
I  will,  for  his  sake  and  yours,  and  maybe  for  his  father's; 
but  I  don't  give  that  for  the  family  traditions  and  that 
sort  of  thing,"  Sunny  said. 

"  So  be  it.    Then  you  will  help  me  ? " 

"I'll  do  anything  I  can,"  Sunny  said.  "But  if  he 
won't  listen  to  you  I  don't  suppose  he'll  listen  to  me." 

"Try,  try,  try!"  she  whispered.  "Try,  and  if  you 
succeed,  you  will  find  you  have  made  a  very  grateful  and 
sincere  friend  in  me,  Miss  Ducrow.  Somehow  I  have 
faith  in  you,"  she  went  on,  "great  faith!  You  look  so 


The  Lion  and  the  Mouse        251 

bright,  so  intelligent,  so  trustworthy,  so — so  brave — and 
you  are  brave !  Any  girl  who  is  fighting  her  way  upwards 
single-handed  must  be  brave.  You  are  making  that  fight, 
and  they  tell  me  you  are  winning  your  way  up.  Help 
me,  and  you  will  find  that  I  am  a  very  grateful  woman." 
She  held  out  her  hand  and  Sunny  took  it. 

"I'll  help  you  and  him  if  I  can.  I'd  hate  to  think  he 
was  ruining  and  spoiling  his  life." 

"Thank  you,  child.  I  do  not  know  why,  but  you  have 
given  me  fresh  hope."  In  the  doorway  her  ladyship 
paused.  "Have  you  ever  heard  of  a  place  called" — 
she  hesitated — ' '  Rendlesham's  ? '  * 

Sunny  shook  her  head. 

"It  is  what  is  called  a  night  club." 

"I  never  been  to  one,"  Sunny  said;  "don't  mean  to 
either!  Night's  the  time  for  sleep  and  rest  after  work." 

"You  are  right!"  her  ladyship  said.  "But  others  do 
not  agree  with  you.  I  hear  that  they — my  son  and  that 
woman — are  always  there,  night  after  night.  I  thought 
perhaps  you  might " 

"I'll  see  about  it,"  Sunny  said. 

Her  ladyship  went  out,  and  Sunny  sat  down  to  think. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

SUNNY  GETS  TO  WORK 

"IV  flY  dear  Sunny,"  Arthur  Curtiss  said  in  his  most 

IVl  affected  and  usually  very  effective  voice,  "you 
are  a  very  dear  little  soul,  we  are  all  very  fond  of  you  and 
admire  you  immensely,  but  you  really  must  consider  that, 
at  any  rate  at  the  present  moment,  you  are  not — not — " 
He  paused,  groping  for  a  word. 

"Not  nothing  to  write  home  about!"  Sunny  sug- 
gested. 

"I  hardly  meant  that.  You  are  not  a  celebrated  star 
at  whose  feet  anxious  and  expectant  managers  are  suing 
for  the  favour  of  a  contract.  See  what  I  mean?" 

"I'd  be  blind  if  I  didn't!"  Sunny  said.  "You're 
right,  Arthur;  only,  all  the  same,  I  want  to  see  the 
governor." 

"And  the  governor,  my  dear  child,  won't  see  you! 
He  has  much  larger  fish  to  think  about  than  Sunny 
Ducrow." 

"Only  lots  of  little  fishes  make  a  better  dish,  don't 
they?  than  one  big,  ugly,  coarse  fish,"  Sunny  said.  "So 
you  ain't  going  to  let  me  through,  Arthur?" 

"Certainly  not,  my  dear!" 

"Betcher  I  see  him  all  the  same!"  Sunny  said. 

Arthur  Curtiss  frowned.  "No  tricks,  Sunny;  I  won't 
have  it.  You've  played  several  on  me  already,  and  I've 
been  forgiving,  too  forgiving.  You've  got  to  remember 
that  Barstowe  trusts  me  to  keep  his  privacy  intact.  If  I 

252 


Sunny  Gets  to  Work  253 

fail,  then  I  am  in  his  bad  books.  If  you  play  tricks  on 
me  and  get  the  better  of  me,  you  are  doing  me  harm. 
See?" 

"Yes,  I  see,  now  you  put  it  that  way,"  Sunny  said. 
"  I  wouldn't  be  mean  to  you.  You  know  that ! " 

"I  don't  think  you  would.  You  wouldn't  want  to  get 
any  friend  into  trouble." 

"  Not  much  I  wouldn't.    You  trust  me ! " 

"I  do!"  Curtiss  said.  "One  moment — excuse  me. 
I  heard  the  bell."  He  paused,  and  then  went  swiftly 
out  of  the  room,  leaving  Sunny  alone  in  his  private 
office. 

Opposite  her  was  the  door  to  Mr.  Barstowe's  room;  in 
that  room  Mr.  Barstowe,  the  inaccessible,  was  sitting. 
Sunny  wanted  to  see  him  badly  about  Bert:  the  cast  for 
the  new  production  was  being  settled  on  almost  at  once. 
One  word  to  Barstowe  about  Bert,  and  she  felt  she  should 
succeed  in  getting  what  she  wanted — that  was,  a  part  for 
Bert  in  the  new  revue.  There  was  the  door,  and  what  in 
the  world  could  be  easier  than  to  cross  the  room  and  open 
the  door  and  go  in  and  interview  Barstowe  there  and 
then? 

Sunny  did  not  move — Curtiss  had  put  her  on  her 
honor.  If  Barstowe  himself  had  come  into  the  room  she 
would  not  have  spoken  to  him. 

A  few  moments  and  Curtiss  was  back.  He  looked  at 
Sunny  keenly. 

"So  you  didn't  take  advantage  of " 

"  Me  ? "  she  said.  Her  face  flamed.  "  You  think  I'm  a 
mean  pig  like  that,  after  what  you  said  about  your  getting 
into  trouble?  '* 

"Good  child!"  he  said.  He  held  out  his  hand.  "The 
fact  of  the  matter  is,  Sunny,  Barstowe  hasn't  come  to-day 
— he's  not  there!  Only  I  thought  I'd  just  try  you  and 
see!" 


254  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Did  you?"  Sunny  said.  "If  I  trusted  a  person  like 
you  said  you  trusted  me,  I  wouldn't  want  to  try  no  tests, 
neither!" 

"I'm  sorry!"  he  said  frankly.  "Sunny,  I  am  sorry.  I 
ought  to  have  known  better.  You'll  forgive  me,  little 
girl? "  He  held  out  his  hand. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  Sunny  said.  "Only  another 
time  you  just  trust  me.  If  I  say  I  won't  do  a  thing,  I 
don't  do  it;  if  I  say  I  will  do  a  thing,  I  just  set  my  teeth 
and  start  doing  it.  I've  got  to  go  on  trying  to  do  it  till  I've 
done  it,  See?" 

"I  see!  "he  said. 

She  looked  at  him.  "You  get  about  a  bit,  I  suppose, 
one  way  and  another? " 

"Why?"  he  said.    "Yes,  why?" 

"Belong  to  clubs  and  like  that?" 

"To  a  few;  to  too  many  if  it  comes  to  that!    Why?" 

"Night  clubs,  I  s'pose?"  she  said. 

"Three  or  four,  for  my  sins;  wearisome  things  they 
are,  too!  Well?" 

' '  Rendlesham's,  for  instance  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  Rendlesham's  among  others.  People  go  there 
when  they  ought  to  be  in  bed,  and  they  sing  and  dance 
and  make  a  noise  generally,  and  fancy  they  are  enjoying 
themselves,  whereas,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  are  bored 
stiff.  That's  how  I  look  on  it.  You  don't  mean  to  say 
you  think  of  joining  a  night  club?  " 

"Me,  my  goodness,  joining  a  night  club!  No,  thanks! 
Bed's  good  enough  for  me  when  my  work  here's  done! " 
she  said. 

"That's  good!  Stick  to  that  idea  and  you'll  keep  your 
-complexion  longer  than  most!"  he  said. 

"All  the  same,  I  want  to  go  to  Rendlesham's  just 
once, "  she  said. 

He  frowned. 


Sunny  Gets  to  Work  255 

"I  think  it  is  hardly  the  place  for  you!  I  mean, 
I  don't  say  it's  bad,  but — but  somehow  I  don't  like  the 
idea  of  your  going  there.  There's  a  lot  of  nice  people  go 
there,  of  course,  but  there  are  also " 

"I  know,"  Sunny  said.  "But  I  want  to  go  all  the 
same.  You  owe  me  something  for — for  that  test  just  now, 
don't  you?" 

"Yes,"  he  agreed. 

"Very  well,  take  me  to  Rendlesham's  to-night  to  make 
up  for  it." 

"I  can't  to-night;  to-morrow  I  might." 

"To-morrow  night,  then,"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "All  right.  Though  for  my 
part " 

"  It's  a  bargain,  then.   So-long,  old  dear! "  Sunny  said. 

"So-long,  young  dear!  "  he  said  gaily. 

Sunny  went  out. 

"Good  sort,  Arthur.  He  don't  understand  me  quite 
yet,"  she  muttered. 

She  went  out.  People  knew  her.  She  had  achieved 
fame  to  the  extent  that  people  in  the  streets  turned  to  look 
after  her.  People  in  omnibuses  nudged  one  another  and 
nodded  in  her  direction;  her  face  was  familiar  to  pur- 
chasers of  picture  post  cards. 

Sunny  Ducrow  was  beginning  to  be  well  known,  she 
was  popular;  but  it  was  not  exactly  fame — not  the  fame 
she  meant  to  win  one  day. 

"It's  the  first  step  or  two  up  the  ladder  anyhow!" 
she  thought.  When  people  stared  at  her  in  the  street,  she 
smiled  at  them  and  they  smiled  back.  She  smiled  out  of 
pure  good-nature  and  goodness  of  heart.  One  or  two  mis- 
guided young  fellows  misunderstood:  they  took  off  their 
hats  and  suggested  that  they  had  met  somewhere  before. 
Then  the  smile  would  vanish  from  Sunny 's  face;  she 
would  stare  them  full  in  the  eyes. 


256  Sunny  Ducrow 

"I  don't  know  you,"  she  would  say,  "and  don't  know 
that  I  particularly  want  to  know  you.  It  seems  a  pity 
that  a  young  fellow  like  you  hasn't  something  better  to 
do!"  It  was  not  so  much  what  she  said,  but  the  quiet 
and  sometimes  cutting  way  in  which  she  said  it,  that 
brought  the  blush  of  shame  to  the  cheek  of  the 
transgressor. 

Sunny  went  out.  She  helped  a  nervous  woman  with 
a  very  dirty  and  noisy  child  to  cross  the  street  at  a 
crowded  crossing;  she  hailed  an  omnibus  for  a  stout 
old  gentleman  who  was  waving  his  umbrella  franti- 
cally and  trying  to  sprint  after  it;  she  gave  a  dirty, 
cold,  ragged-looking  boy  who  had  his  nose  pressed 
against  a  restaurant  window  a  sixpence  to  buy  tarts 
with.  It  was  her  usual  mode  of  progress  along  the 
street.  It  was  surprising  what  a  number  of  good 
turns  Sunny  could  find  to  do  her  fellow  human 
beings  in  even  a  short  walk.  She  kept  her  eyes 
open,  and  saw  other  people  who  needed  help.  She 
gave  it  to  them  quickly;  it  was  her  way  of  going 
through  life. 

Mossy  Bernstein  was  in.  He  and  Sunny  were  particu- 
larly good  friends  now.  Mossy  had  been  known  to  keep 
Miss  Patty  Dubois,  the  eminent  music-hall  star,  waiting 
for  half  an  hour  while  he  talked  ' '  pickles ' '  to  Sunny.  He 
had  even  kept  Miss  Allis  Sinclair,  the  great  American 
actress,  waiting  a  full  ten  minutes  while  he  settled  a  new 
poster  with  Sunny. 

He  was  unoccupied  to-day,  and  welcomed  her  with 
evident  pleasure. 

"I've  got  those  proofs  of  the  last  pothter  in,  Thunny," 
he  said.  "They  are  eye-openerth,  my  dear.  Have  a 
look  here!"  He  unrolled  a  proof  poster  and  held  it  up 
before  his  fat,  squat  figure.  It  was  a  brilliant  one  in  green, 
red,  and  yellow. 


Sunny  Gets  to  Work  257 

DON'T  BE  POISONED 
Avoid  it  by  knowing  what  you  are  eating. 

JOHN  CROW 

Stands  for  purity.  We  sell  you  purity  for  a  penny  a  pound. 
See  what  we  mean?  You  pay  a  penny  a  pound  more  for 
JOHN  CROW  JAM,  JOHN  CROW  PICKLES,  and  JOHN  CROW 
SAUCE,  because  they  are  pure,  because  they  are  made  of  the 
best,  because  our  factory  is  open  to  your  inspection  at  any 
time. 

WELL?    WHAT  DO  YOU  SAY? 

Unless  we  make  a  mistake,  you'll  say  what  everyone  else  is 
saying  to  their  grocers — 

"JOHN  CROW  JAM,  PLEASE." 
THE  SAME  AS  MOTHER  MAKES 

"How'th  that?"  Mossy  asked. 

"Fine,  ain't  it? "  Sunny  said.  "That  ought  to  fetch 
rem!  "  She  had  written  it  herself. 

"They  are  knocking  off  fifty  thouthand  of  'em!" 
Mossy  said.  "I've  fixed  up  for  them  to  be  posted  in 
London,  Liverpool,  Manchethter,  and  Bradford,  and 
about  a  dozen  other  platheth.  It'll  be  a  good  thtart,  eh?  " 

"Fine!"  Sunny  said.  "Only  I  didn't  come  to  talk 
'pickles'  to-day." 

"Want  an  engagement,  eh?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  she  said.  "Not  as  you  could  notice — not  yet, 
anyhow!  I  think  I'll  fix  up  with  Barstowe  for  the  new 
production.  Only  it  wasn't  that  I  came  to  talk  to  you 
about." 

"Fire  away,  dear ! "  he  said.  He  sat  down  and  beamed 
at  her.  "Don't  thmoke,  do  you? "  he  asked,  pushing  a 
box  of  cigarettes  towards  her. 

Sunny  shook  her  head.  "No,  nor  don't  mean!"  she 
said.  She  put  her  elbows  on  the  table.  "Mossy,  you 
know  everyone!  "  she  said. 


258  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Motht  people,  my  dear — good,  bad,  and  indifferent, 
mothtly  indifferent! " 

"Know" — she  paused — "know  Gilly  Casson?  " 

Mossy  paused.  He  got  up.  "I  meant  to  thhow  you  the 
proof  of  the  bills  to  thtick  in  the  groceth'  windowth. 
What  do  you  think?" 

He  produced  a  small  poster. 

SOLD  HERE — 

JOHN  CROW 

JAMS,  PICKLES,  AND  SAUCES. 
John  Crow  stands  for  purity. 

We  charge  an  extra  penny  a  pound 
for  purity,  and  it's  worth  it.  We 
guarantee  money's  worth. 

THE  SAME  AS  MOTHER  MAKES 

"That's  an  idea,  isn't  it?"  Sunny  said — "to  keep  on 
telling  'em  all  the  time  that  we  charge  a  penny  a  pound 
more,  and  telling  'em  at  the  same  time  why  we  charge  it. 
They  can't  say,  '  How  dear ! '  can  they  ?  That's  the  idea 
that  struck  me!" 

"I  believe  you're  right,  my  dear.  We'll  thee  how 
it  maps  out,"  Mossy  said.  "Now,  about  this  new 
revue " 

"That's  not  why  I'm  here,"  Sunny  said;  "it's  about 
Gilly  Casson." 

"  Hemmingway'th  going  to  put  on  a  big  production 
in  October,"  he  said.  "I  was  thinking,  only  you  don't 
like  Rotheimer,  and  I  don't  blame  you !  Well,  after  all, 
Hemmingway  ith  both,  ithn't  he?  So  why  not " 

"Look  here,"  Sunny  said,  "it's  no  good;  I  see  what 
your  game  is,  Mossy.  I'm  come  here  for  a  purpose,  and 
you  know  me,  don't  you? " 


Sunny  Gets  to  Work  259 

"Of  courth,  my  dear! "  he  said. 

"Well,  you  know  what  I  am.  When  I've  got  a  purpose 
I'm  not  going  to  be  turned  from  it,  eh? "  Sunny  said. 

"  It  ith  uthually  the  way ! "  he  muttered.    "  Well  ? " 

"I'm  come  here  to  ask  you  what  you  know  about 
Gilly  Casson,"  she  said;  "that's  what.  Now  stick  to  it! 
You  know  her? " 

He  nodded;  he  looked  round  the  room;  he  wanted  to 
find  something  to  attract  Sunny's  attention,  something  to 
turn  the  current  of  her  thoughts. 

"Oh,  I  thay  thath  a  good  pothter  I  had  done  for 
Millie  Lagrange.  I'll  get  it  and " 

"Sit  there!"  Sunny  said.  "It's  Gilly  Casson  all  the 
time.  See?" 

Mossy  dropped  back  in  his  chair;  he  crossed  his  hands 
over  his  ample  waistcoat  and  looked  at  her  with  patient 
eyes. 

"Well,  and  what  the  dickenth  do  you  want  to  know 
about  Gilly  Cathon? "  he  asked. 

"Just  everything!"  Sunny  said.  "Everything  from 
AtoZ.  See?" 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

AUGUST   THE  THIRD 

MOSSY  BERNSTEIN  wriggled  on  his  seat. 
"  Look  here,  Thunny ! "  he  said.     "  I  don't  beHeve 
in  chattering;  ith  not  good  for  trade.    Another  thing  ith, 
I  don't  want  to  be  dragged  into  no  libel  action.    Thee  ? " 

"I  see,"  Sunny  said.  "If  you  can't  trust  me,  you'd 
best  say  nothing;  only  I'd  got  an  idea  somehow  that  you 
could  trust  me!" 

"Trutht  you,  my  dear — of  courth  I  can!"  he  cried. 
"Well — "  Again  he  hesitated.  He  brought  the  tips  of 
his  fat  fingers  together  and  sat  staring  at  Sunny  for  some 
moments.  Then  he  seemed  to  wake  up;  he  hastily 
scribbled  something  on  a  piece  of  paper. 

"About  that  woman  Gilly  Cathon,"  he  said.  "Well, 
it  ithn't  her  name.  I  knew  her  before ;  got  her  an  engage- 
ment once  under  her  own  name!  If  you  want  to  know 
her  real  name,  here  it  ith!"  He  pushed  the  scrap  of 
paper  towards  Sunny.  She  picked  it  up  and  read  the 
name;  it  was  quite  unfamiliar  to  her. 

"Got  her  an  engagement  in  a  provinthial  pantomime 
two  yearth  ago,"  Mossy  said.  "And  don't  make  any 
mithtake,"  he  added.  "I  know  ith  the  thame  one! " 

"  Well? "  Sunny  asked.    "This  don't  tell  me  much ! " 

Mossy  leaned  back  in  his  chair;  he  closed  his  little 
eyes. 

"Augutht  the  third!"  he  muttered.  "Thath  it— 
Augutht  the  third!" 

260 


August  the  Third  261 

"What  is?"  Sunny  said.  "For  goodness'  sake  do  get 
on  with  it ! " 

"I've  told  you  all  I'm  going  to  tell  you! "  Mossy  said. 

"But  you  ain't  told  me  nothing!"  she  said. 

"I've  told  you  a  lot,  my  dear,  and  if  you've  got  the 
brainth  I  think  you  have,  you'll  work  the  retht  out  for 
yourthelf!  Don't  forget  the  date — Augutht  the  third. 
You've  got  the  name!"  He  grabbed  his  hat  suddenly. 
"Thorry,  I  mutht  run  away!"  he  said.  "Tho-long, 
Thunny!" 

Mossy  bolted — there  was  no  other  word  for  it — bolted 
out  of  the  room  like  a  rabbit  pursued  by  ferrets  scuttling 
out  of  its  burrow.  Sunny  stared  after  him  in  sheer 
astonishment.  She  called  him,  but  he  did  not  come  back. 

Sunny  rose  and  followed  him  down  to  the  street,  but 
Mossy  had  gone  long  before  she  gained  the  stairs. 

Out  in  the  street  Sunny  opened  the  paper  and  looked 
at  the  name  again ;  it  was  certainly  an  uncommon  one — 
"  Morania  Gilbert." 

Morania!  Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  name  as  that 
before?  Gilbert  was  common  enough,  of  course.  Gilbert. 
And  she  called  herself  Gilly — short  for  Gilbert,  of  course 
— and  had  tacked  on  the  Casson  and  dropped  the 
Morania. 

"Well,  what  about  it  all?"  Sunny  wondered.  "And 
why  August  the  third?  I'd  like  to  shake  him,  I  would!" 
she  muttered.  "Running  off  like  that  as  if  he  was  half 
scared  out  of  his  life! 

"Morania  Gilbert,  August  the  third!  What  on  earth 
could  August  the  third  have  to  do  with  it?  And  what 
August  the  third?"  she  wondered.  "This  year,  or  the 
year  before  that,  or  twenty  years  ago,  or  what? 

"Little  wretch!"  Sunny  muttered.  She  stood  there 
on  the  pavement  wrinkling  her  brows  in  deep  thought. 
People  passing  stared  at  her;  most  of  them  knew  her. 


262  Sunny  Ducrow 

"It  seems  to  me" — Sunny  muttered  her  thoughts 
aloud — "  as  something  must  have  happened  to  her,  Mor- 
ania  Gilbert,  one  August  the  third.  Perhaps  it  was  in  the 
papers.  Perhaps " 

It  dawned  on  her  suddenly. 

" Hi,  taxi! "  she  shouted  excitedly. 

A  cab  pulled  up  against  the  curb  for  her. 

"August  the  third,  please!"  Sunny  said. 

"Beg  pardon,  miss?"  the  man  said. 

"I — I  mean — I  mean  a  newspaper  office! "  Sunny  said. 
"Take  me  to  a  newspaper  office,  quick! " 

"Yes,  miss;  w!iich  one,  miss?" 

"Any  old  one!"  she  said.  "Try  the  Times— I  don't 
care — the  Mail,  or  the  Telegraft;  it  don't  matter!  Yes,  it 
does,  though ! "  She  paused.  "  I'll  go  to  the  Mail  office," 
she  said.  "You  can  get  the  news  out  of  the  Mail  quicker 
if  you're  in  a  hurry  than  you  can  out  of  most  papers, 
can't  you?  " 

"I  believe  you  can,  miss,"  he  said. 

Sunny  stepped  into  the  cab  and  it  dashed  off.  A  few 
minutes  later  and  she  was  in  the  Mail  office  and  asking 
to  be  allowed  to  see  a  file  of  papers. 

One  thing  Sunny  had  decided  in  her  mind — it  would 
not  be  August  the  third  of  this  year,  for  now  it  was  only 
September,  and  Gilly  Casson,  as  Gilly  Casson,  had  been 
before  the  public  for  several  months  now. 

"I'll  start  and  try  last  year,"  she  thought.  So  she 
asked  to  see  the  file  for  August  of  the  previous  year. 

For  half  an  hour  she  studied  the  copy  of  the  paper 
for  August  the  third,  but  there  was  nothing  in  it  that 
seemed  to  have  anything  to  do  with  Gilly  Casson  or 
Morania  Gilbert.  To  make  sure,  she  went  carefully 
through  the  issue  of  August  the  fourth,  and  then 
skimmed  through  that  of  August  the  fifth.  There  was 
no  August  the  sixth,  that  day  chancing  to  be  a  Sun- 


August  the  Third  263 

day.     August  the  seventh  conveyed  no  information  to 
her  at  all. 

"  I'll  have  to  get  a  look  at  the  year  before,"  she  thought. 

It  was  a  very  obliging  young  clerk  who  brought  her 
the  files  and  assisted  her  by  every  means  in  his  power. 
He  had  been  to  the  Realm  and  had  seen  her  seven  times 
in  all,  and  knew  her  song  by  heart.  He  would  have  liked 
to  tell  her  so,  but  refrained. 

"Ah!"  Sunny  gasped. 

"Found  what  you  want,  miss?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,  I've  got  it  all  right!"  Sunny  said  excitedly. 
"Can — can  I  get  a  copy  of  this  paper?  " 

"I  dare  say,  Miss  Ducrow!  "  he  said. 

It  did  not  strike  Sunny  as  odd  that  he  should  knovr 
her;  most  people  knew  her. 

She  had  to  wait  a  considerable  time  before  he  brought 
the  issue  of  the  paper  that  she  wanted. 

"Thank  you  very  much  for  all  your  trouble!  "  Sunny 
said.  She  shook  hands  with  him  gravely,  and  the  young 
man  flushed  with  pleasure.  It  was  something  to  re- 
member and  to  talk  about  that  he  had  shaken  hands 
with  Miss  Sunny  Ducrow. 

Sunny  went  out.  For  ten  minutes  she  stood  on  the 
pavement  outside  the  office  making  up  her  mind  what, 
she  should  do  next,  then  suddenly  she  made  it  up. 

She  walked  up  Bouverie  Street  into  Fleet  Street  and 
hailed  a  cab. 

" Blessendale  House! "  she  said.    "Know  it?  " 

The  driver  nodded.  "Yes,  miss!"  he  said.  "An* 
know  Buckingham  Palis  and  Mawl-brough  'Ouse  too! " 

"Know  quite  a  lot,  you  do!"  Sunny  said.  "Well, 
hop  it! " 

He  hopped  it  at  a  very  fair  pace.  He  carried  Sunny 
to  her  destination,  and  unloaded  his  fare  outside  the 
massive  and  imposing  portals  of  Blessendale  House. 


264  Sunny  Ducrow 

This  time  there  was  no  red  carpet  down  or  awning 
erected  above  the  sidewalk.  Sunny  felt  a  tremor  of 
nervousness  as  she  ascended  the  awe-inspiring  steps  and 
rang  the  bell. 

A  large  and  massive  footman,  gorgeously  upholstered, 
opened  the  door  and  stood  looking  down  at  her. 

"  I  want  to  see  her  ladyship, "  Sunny  said.  "  I'm  come 
on  private  business.  Just  tell  her  I'm  here.  My  name 
is " 

"  Beg  pardon,  miss,  I  know  your  name;  'ad  the  pleasure, 
miss,  of  hearing  you  sing,  miss,  at  'er  ladyship's  concert. 
I'll  mention  it  to  'er  ladyship  as  you  are  'ere,  Miss  Du- 
crow !  Will  you  step  inside  ? ' ' 

Sunny  stepped  inside.  She  stood  within  the  great 
marble  hall  which  boasted  the  most  magnificent  stair- 
case in  London.  She  remembered  that  day,  not  so 
very  long  ago,  when  she  had  stood  just  here  talking  to 
Stanley  Alwyn,  Viscount  Dobrington.  What  friends 
they  had  been  then,  and  now  she  had  not  seen  him  for 
weeks ! 

"Her  ladyship  will  be  pleased  to  see  you,  Miss  Ducrow. 
Will  you  kindly  step  this  way?  " 

He  led  her  up  the  wide  staircase  to  the  floor  above;  he 
opened  a  door  with  a  flourish  and  announced  her. 

"Miss  Sunny  Ducrow." 

Lady  Blessendale  rose.  It  was  quite  a  small  room, 
even  a  homely  little  room,  hardly  a  room  one  would  have 
looked  to  see  in  such  a  house  of  magnificence.  It  was 
actually  shabby,  Sunny  noted  with  a  feeling  of  relief.  It 
made  her  feel  at  home  at  once,  and  banished  the  some- 
what scared,  overawed  feeling  that  had  oppressed  her 
since  the  great  door  had  closed  behind  her. 

Lady  Blessendale  held  out  her  hand. 

" It  is  good  of  you  to  come!  "  she  said  eagerly.  "Have 
you  any  news? " 


August  the  Third  265 

"Not  yet,  I  haven't!"  Sunny  said.  "I  just  came  to 
have  a  talk  with  you  about  this  here  matter" — she 
paused — "this  matter,  I  mean!  "  she  added. 

"Sit  down,  child!  "  her  ladyship  said. 

Sunny  sat  down. 

There  was  a  look  of  extreme  eagerness  in  her  lady- 
ship's eyes ;  she  was  visibly  agitated. 

"Tell  me,  have  you  discovered  anything,  anything  that 
is  likely  to  be  of  help  to — to  us,  to  me " 

"I've  found  out  bits  here  and  there!"  Sunny  said. 
"Only  that  isn't  what  I've  come  to  talk  to  you  about; 
it's  money ! "  She  paused. 

"You — you  mean  payment?" 

"That's  it!"  Sunny  said. 

A  look  of  keen  disappointment  came  into  the  elder 
woman's  handsome,  aristocratic  face. 

"  I — I  might  have  guessed  it,"  she  said,  speaking  aloud, 
though  to  herself.  "One  cannot  expect  help  unless  one 
pays  for  it!  Money — you  wish  payment?  " 

Sunny  nodded. 

"I  see!  If  you  are  in  a  position  to  assist  me,  Miss 
Ducrow,"  her  ladyship  said  haughtily,  "I  will  certainly 
remunerate  you  for  your  trouble  in  the  matter.  I  will  pay 
you  handsomely." 

"  Me? "  Sunny  said.  ' '  Pay  me?  What  are  you  talking 
about?" 

"I  understand  that  you  desire  payment  for  assisting 
me  in  this  matter!  " 

"Then  you  don't  understand  nothing!"  Sunny  said. 
"Me,  I  don't  want  pay.  You've  got  hold  of  the  wrong 
end  of  the  stick!" 

" I  beg  your  pardon!  " 

"So  you  ought  to!"  Sunny  said.  "Anyhow,  it's 
granted.  What  I  want  to  know  is,  how  much  will  you 
run  to — to  pay  her? " 


Sunny  Ducrow 

"Oh,  you-  you  mean  what  offer  can  you  make  her  on 
my  behalf? " 

"Put  it  that  way  if  you  like! "  Sunny  said.  "What  I 
want  to  know  is,  how  much  may  I  go  to  to  get  her  to 
clear  out?  That's  plain  English,  isn't  it?  " 

"Yes,  quite  plain,  now  I  quite  understand  you.  I  am 
afraid  I  wronged  you.  I  thought  you  were  seeking  re- 
muneration for  your  own  services." 

"Well,  you  thought  wrong.  I  don't  want  no  paying. 
I'm  acting  friendly  for  you  and — and  him.  I  thought  you 
understood  that ! " 

"I  do  indeed  understand  that,  and  if  you  can  help  me 
I  shall  be  very  grateful  indeed,  Miss  Ducrow!  " 

" Sunny 's  good  enough  for  me!"  Sunny  said,  with  a 
broad  smile.  The  smile  was  contagious.  Anxious  and 
nervous  though  the  elder  woman  was,  she  smiled  back. 

"Very  well,  Sunny,"  she  said,  "I  shall  be  everlastingly 
and  deeply  in  your  debt  if  you  will  assist  me  in  gaining 
my  desire." 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  have  a  good  pot  at  it,"  Sunny 
said.  "Now,  how  much  will  you  go  to  to  buy  her  off  ?  " 

' '  I  am  afraid  she  will  not  be  bought  off  unless  you  have 
some  other  lever " 

"Give  it  a  name, "  Sunny  said;  "how  much? " 

"I — I  would  give  five  thousand  pounds! "  her  ladyship 
said. 

"Lawky!"  Sunny  opened  her  eyes.  "As  much  as 
that?" 

"It  would  be  little  compared  with  what  I  should  gain. 
The  thought  that  my  son,  a  son  of  our  house,  should 
marry  such  a  woman " 

"  He  won't ! "  Sunny  said.  "  Not  much  he  won't !  Five 
thousand!  You'll  give  that?  Well,  she  won't  be  able  to 
say  that  you  ain't  generous! " 

"It  is  not  generosity,"  her  ladyship  said.     "I  would 


August  the  Third  267 

give  all  I  possess,  to  the  last  shred,  to  save  my  son 
from  a  lifetime  of  unhappiness  and  disgrace  and  disillu- 
sionment." 

"That's  about  it!"  Sunny  said.  She  leaned  back  in 
the  chair  and  looked  at  the  pale,  proud,  but  beautiful  face 
of  the  other  woman. 

"You  trust  me,  I  s'pose? "  she  said  briefly. 

"Entirely!" 

"You'd  like  to  prove  it,  perhaps?"  Sunny  said. 

"  I  shall  be  pleased  to  prove  it,  Miss  Du — Sunny ! " 

"  Then  write  out  a  cheque,  don't  put  in  no  amount,  just 
write  out,  pay  Sunny  Ducrow,  and  don't  say  no  sum,  and 
sign  your  name,  that's  all." 

"But — but  supposing " 

"Oh,  if  you  don't  trust  me!" 

"I  do;  I  will  prove  it!"  her  ladyship  said.  "I  suppose 
I  need  hardly  tell  you  to  be  careful;  if  it  fell  into  other 
hands  the  cheque  might  be  filled  in  for  some  very  heavy 
sum!" 

"I  know.  I  shan't  lose  it;  don't  you  worry! "  Sunny 
said. 

Her  ladyship  sat  down  at  a  little  ornamental  escritoire 
and  wrote  out  a  cheque,  leaving  the  amount  blank.  She 
handed  it  to  Sunny. 

"Thanks,"  said  Sunny;  "that's  all  right!  I  can  fill 
that  in  for  anything  up  to  five  thousand  pounds  ? " 

"Up  to  and  including! " 

"That's  all  right!"  Sunny  put  the  cheque  into  the 
bosom  of  her  dress.  "It'll  be  all  right  there — safe  as 
houses!" 

"You  see  I  am  trusting  you  completely!"  her  ladyship 
said. 

"If  you  didn't,  we  couldn't  do  no  business  together!" 
Sunny  answered. 

Her  ladyship  smiled.     "You  will  take  tea  with  me,  I 


268  Sunny  Ducrow 

hope?"  She  reached  out  and  touched  an  electric  bell. 
"Tea,  if  you  please,"  she  said  to  the  gorgeous  footman. 

"You  don't  suppose  he's  likely  to  come  in?"  Sunny 
asked. 

"He— who?" 

"  Dob ! ' '  Sunny  said.    ' '  The  Vis-count,  I  mean ! ' ' 

"My  son?  No,  he  will  not  come  in;  I  see  very,  very 
little  of  him  of  late,  too  little ! "  She  sighed.  "  I  do  not 
think  we  need  fear  his  putting  in  an  appearance." 

Her  ladyship  was  right,  Lord  Dobrington  did  not  put  in 
an  appearance.  Had  he  done  so,  he  might  have  been  very 
considerably  surprised  to  see  Sunny  Ducrow  talking  with 
his  mother,  and  talking  in  an  entirely  unconstrained 
manner. 

If  it  was  possible  for  two  people  so  widely  apart  by 
birth,  upbringing,  and  education  to  be  friends,  these  two 
seemed  to  thoroughly  understand  one  another  at  least. 

Sunny  ate  a  vast  quantity  of  wafer-cut  bread-and- 
butter,  she  drank  four  tiny  cups  of  exquisite  tea,  and 
consumed  certain  pieces  of  cake,  and  while  she  ate  she 
talked. 

"Poor  dear,  she's  half  worried  to  death! "  she  thought. 
"What  she  wants  is  amusing ! "  So  Sunny  talked  to  her 
ladyship  of  the  old  days  at  the  pickle  factory;  she  told 
anecdotes  of  Bill  Wilkins,  and  of  "  'Arry  "  his  brother,  of 
Mr.  Johnson,  and  the  rest. 

"Then  I  managed  to  get  on  the  stage.  Got  run  in,  me 
and  Bert  did.  I  know" — Sunny  paused — "I  know  I 
ought  to  say  Bert  and  I  were  arrested,  only  when  I'm 
talking  naturally  I  like  to  talk  my  old  way.  You  see?  " 

' '  Quite !    But— but  arrested  ? ' ' 

"  For  singing  in  the  streets.  We  wanted  a  holiday  and 
hadn't  got  the  money,  so  I  struck  an  idea.  Me  and  Bert 
tried  to  sing  My  Old  Dutch,  and  we  got  run  in,  the  pair 
of  us.  Next  morning  at  the  police-court  we  got  let  off 


August  the  Third  269 

all  right;  nice  old  gentleman  the  magistrate  was — I'd  like 
to  see  him  again.  Then  Miss  Montressor  come  along — " 
Sunny  went  on  with  her  history,  and  her  ladyship  was 
interested. 

"An*  now  it  seems  funny,  don't  it?"  Sunny  said. 
"  Me  who  used  to  stick  the  labels  on  at  eight  bob  a  week, 
I'm  half  partner  now.  Well,  I've  got  to  be  moving. 
Thank  you  for  the  tea.  I  never  'ad  bread-and-butter 
cut  that  thin  before !"  She  rose  and  held  out  her  hand. 
"I'll  be  popping  along  now,"  she  said. 

"  Miss  Ducrow — Sunny!"  her  ladyship  said.  She  held 
Sunny 's  hand.  "Do — do  you  hold  out  any  prospect, 
can  you  honestly  say  that  you  have  any  hope  that  you 
may  succeed? " 

"  Betcher  I  do ! "  Sunny  said.    "  I'll  succeed  all  right ! ' ' 

"  How — how  long  before  you  can  bring  me  good  news?  " 

Sunny  wrinkled  her  brows. 

"To-morrow's  Thursday."  she  said,  "next  day's 
Friday.  Friday  afternoon  with  luck ! ' '  she  said.  ' '  Maybe 
it  won't  be  till  Saturday,  but  I  think  it'll  be  Friday! 
Friday's  my  lucky  day! " 

"I  hope  that  it  will  prove  mine,  child!"  Lady 
Blessendale  said.  "Sunny  Ducrow,  if  you  succeed,  how 
— how  can  I  reward  you?  What  mark  of  my  gratitude 
can  I  bestow  on  you? " 

"Me?"  Sunny  said.  "Oh,  I  don't  want  nothing—" 
She  paused.  "Of  course,"  she  said  slowly,  "I  know 
what  I  ought  to  say,  like  Mr.  Gibbins  teaches  me.  I 
really  want  nothing,  my  lady!"  She  paused.  She 
screwed  up  her  forehead.  "Only  there's  one  thing — I 
wonder  if  you'd  do  it? — there's  one  thing  you  could  do 
for  me! "  She  became  eager  all  of  a  sudden. 

"Anything!"  Lady  Blessendale  said.  "Anything  in 
my  power!" 

"In  a  house  this  size,"  Sunny  said,  "you  must  get 


270  Sunny  Ducrow 

through  a  wonderful  lot  of  jams  and  pickles  and  things 
like  that!  If  you'd  tell  your  cook  always  to  ask  for  the 
John  Crow  Brand  you'd  do  me  an  awful  good  turn! " 

"You  foolish  child!  Why,  of  course  I  will!  Is  there 
nothing  else — nothing  you  can  think  of?" 

"One  thing,"  Sunny  said.  "That  is,  hold  your  head 
tap  and  keep  smiling.  It'll  be  all  right,  betcher ! " 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

IDENTIFICATION 

MR.  MAKERSON,  the  manager  of  the  huge  retail 
business,  "  Myhills,"  that  vast  shop  where  every- 
thing conceivable  is,  if  not  kept  in  stock,  to  be  obtained 
on  the  shortest  notice,  sat  in  his  private  office. 

A  card  was  brought  to  him ;  on  the  card  was  scribbled 
in  lead  pencil  a  name. 

"Miss    Ducrow!      Sunny    Ducrow!"    he    muttered. 
"Know  the  name.    Well,  what  does  she  want?  " 

"Says  she  wants  to  see  you  particularly  and  impor- 
tantly, sir! "  the  clerk  said. 

"Sunny  Ducrow — who's  she?    I  know  the  name!  " 

"Well-known  actress,  sir! "  the  clerk  said. 

"To  be  sure,  of  course,  bless  me!    Well,  yes,  I'll  see 
her!    Show  her  in!" 

Mr.  Makerson  was  not  quite  a  young  man,  but  he  had 
an  eye  and  keen  appreciation  for  beauty. 

He  rose  gallantly  and  placed  a  seat  for  Sunny  as  she 
came  in. 

"And  to  what  may  I  ascribe  the  honor  of  this  visit, 
Miss  Ducrow? "  he  inquired. 

"You  mean,"  Sunny  asked,  "what  the  dickens  do  I 
want  bothering  you  for.    Is  that  it?  " 

"It  is  no  bother,  I  do  assure  you;  it  is  a  pleasure — the 
more  delightful  that  it  was  unlocked  for! " 

"  I've  come  to  ask  you  to  do  something  for  me,"  Sunny 
laid. 

271 


272  Sunny  Ducrow 

"It  will  be  a  very  great  pleasure,  provided  that  it  is 
in  my  power!" 

"  Anyhow,  if  you  can't  do  it  for  me,"  Sunny  said,  "it'll 
be  something  I've  gained  getting  to  know  you.  See? " 

Mr.  Makerson  actually  blushed  with  pleasure. 

"The  pleasure  is  mutual!"  he  said. 

"Now  we've  done  throwing  bouquets  about,"  Sunny 
said,  "  I'll  get  to  business! "  She  brought  a  picture  post 
card  out  of  her  bag;  very  carefully  she  tore  a  strip  off 
the  bottom  of  it,  then  she  held  it  out  to  Mr.  Makerson. 

The  photograph  was  of  a  young  woman,  who  was 
laughing,  showing  a  double  set  of  fine  teeth  in  an  un- 
earthly grin.  She  was  wearing  a  low-cut  gown,  of  a  style 
bordering  on  the  daring. 

"Know  it?  "  Sunny  asked. 

Mr.  Makerson  frowned.    ' '  It — it  is  not  meant  for  you ! " 

"I  could  have  told  you  that.  Does  it  look  like  me?  " 
Sunny  said. 

"No,  it  does  not,  and  I  am  glad  to  realize  that  it  does 
not;  but  the  face  is — is  familiar,  strangely  familiar.  An 
actress,  possibly? " 

Sunny  nodded.    ' '  Have  you  seen  her  before  ? ' ' 

"I  can't  say,  I  am  not  sure;  there  is  certainly  some- 
thing familiar  about  the  woman.  I  don't  know! " 

"You  were  here  on  the  third  of  August  the  year  before 
last — that's  two  years  and  a  month  ago? " 

"Of  course!" 

"Have  another  look!" 

Mr.  Makerson  did  have  another  look. 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  can't  place  her;  I  certainly  do  seem 
to  remember,  but " 

"Supposing  she  was  a  customer  and  came  into  the 
shop,  who  else  would  see  her — I  mean  if  she  was  a  sort  of 
particular  customer,  something  out  of  the  ordinary?" 

"Bridges  might  recognize  her,"  Mr.  Makerson  said. 


Identification  273 

He  rang  the  bell.    "  Mr.  Bridges,  if  you  please!  "  he  said. 

Mr.  Bridges  came,  a  thin,  spare  man  with  a  narrow 
face  and  very  keen  eyes.  He  took  the  portrait  from  his 
superior,  looked  at  it,  and  smiled. 

"Of  course!"  he  said.  "I'd  know  the  woman  any- 
where!" He  paused.  "Let  me  see,  it  would  be  about 
two  years  ago.  The  name  was" — he  paused  again — 
' '  Gilbert.  An  uncommon  Christian  name ! ' '  He  wrinkled 
his  brows.  "  I '  ve  got  it — Morania ;  described  as  an  actress 
when  she " 

"That's  all  right!"  Sunny  said.  "I  wonder  if  you'd 
mind  writing  that  down  on  the  back,  would  you?" 

Mr.  Bridges  looked  at  his  superior. 

"If  it  will  be  of  any  assistance  to  Miss  Ducrow,  I 
should  be  obliged  to  you,  Bridges,  if  you  would  do  so," 
Mr.  Makerson  said. 

"With  pleasure!"  Mr.  Bridges  bent  over  the  table, 
he  wrote  for  some  moments,  then  he  handed  the  card  to 
Sunny.  ' '  Will  that  do  ? "  he  asked. 

Sunny  took  it,  read  it,  and  ribdded  her  head.  "Do 
fine!"  she  said.  "You  don't  know  how  much  obliged  I 
am  to  you!  You've  helped  me  a  wonderful  lot ! " 

* '  The  pleasure  is  ours,  Miss  Ducrow ! "  Mr.  Makerson 
said  gallantly.  "Thank  you,  Bridges! " 

Bridges  went. 

Evidently  Mr.  Makerson,  though  he  was  of  course  a 
busy  man,  was  not  in  a  hurry  for  Sunny  to  go.  He  kept 
her  talking,  and  Sunny  felt  that  she  owed  him  some  return. 
So  she  stayed,  and  they  parted  good  friends.  Mr.  Maker- 
son  had  promised  to  come  and  see  her  act  at  the  Realm. 

"That's  all  right! "  Sunny  said  when  she  was  outside. 
"Only  I  got  to  make  dead  sure,  dead,  certain  sure! " 

She  hailed  a  cab. 

"New  Scotland  Yard,   where  the  policemen  live!" 
she  said.       / 
if 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

SNARED 

"  I'LL  be  bothered  if  I  know  what  on  earth  a  girl  like  you 
1     wants  to  come  to  a  place  like  this  for!"  Arthur 
Curtiss  said  disgustedly.    "This  place  bores  me  tired. 
How  long  do  you  want  to  stay,  Sunny?  " 

"Not  long!"  Sunny  said.  The  theatre  was  over,  they 
had  taken  a  cab,  and  now  they  were  sitting  in  a  corner  of 
the  large  dancing-saloon  at  Rendlesham's. 

The  string  orchestra,  an  unusually  good  one,  was  dis- 
coursing music ;  a  few  couples  had  taken  the  floor.  They 
were  dancing  really  well,  as  they  ought  to,  considering 
that  dancing  was  part  of  their  business  in  life. 

It  had  gone  twelve,  and  the  night  club  was  slowly 
filling  up. 

Arthur  Curtiss,  with  a  crumpled  shirt  front,  his  hands 
deep  in  his  pockets  and  a  scowl  of  complete  boredom  on 
his  face,  sat  with  his  legs  stretched  out  beside  Sunny. 
Sunny  sat  with  her  elbows  on  a  little  table. 

"You'll  have  to  have  something  for  the  good  of  the 
house,  I  suppose,"  he  growled. 

"I  don't  mind! "  Sunny  said. 

Curtiss  beckoned  a  waiter. 

"  What  will  it  be?"  he  said.    "Where's  the  wine  list  ? " 

"  I'll  have  a  cup  of  tea,"  Sunny  said. 

"Scone  and  butter  with  it? "  Curtiss  asked  jeeringly. 

"No,  I'm  not  particularly  hungry;  I'll  get  on  with  just 
a  cup  of  tea." 

274 


Snared  275 

Many  more  people  were  drifting  in  now  that  the 
theatres  were  closed.  Arthur  Curtiss  yawned.  "How 
long?"  he  demanded. 

"Well,  if  you  ain't  a  bright  and  pleasant  companion, 
Arthur!"  Sunny  said.  "It's  a  real  pleasure  to  come  out 
with  you!" 

He  laughed.  "Sorry  and  all  that,"  he  said,  "but 
this  place  gets  on  my  nerves.  And  you  don't  mean 
to  tell  me  you  are  enjoying  yourself?" 

"It's  interesting,  anyway,"  Sunny  said. 

"Then,  if  you  are  so  keen,  why  not  join,  why  not  be 
a  member?" 

"Not  me,  thanks;  once  is  enough,  and — "  Sunny 
paused.  She  started  and  then  stared;  her  eyes  grew 
rather  hard,  her  mouth,  that  red-lipped,  laughing,  happy 
mouth  of  hers,  grew  suddenly  stern. 

Two  newcomers  had  entered  the  room;  "He"  was  one 
of  them.  It  was  some  weeks  since  she  had  seen  Dobring- 
ton,  and  she  realized  that  the  weeks  had  not  improved 
him.  He  looked  jaded  and  careworn,  he  looked  rather  ill, 
too.  His  handsome,  boyish  face  had  lost  something  of  the 
boyishness  and  good  health  and  freshness  that  Sunny  had 
always  liked  about  him. 

By  his  side  was  a  woman,  a  woman  at  whom  most  of 
the  other  women  turned  and  stared.  She  was  dressed 
magnificently,  over-dressed,  in  outrageously  bad  taste. 
She  was  not  exactly  pretty,  but  there  was  something 
fascinating  about  her  white  face.  Her  hair  was  a  vivid 
red — not  the  real  red,  the  gorgeous  red  of  nature  like 
Sunny's  own  locks,  but  a  magenta  red,  very,  very  ob- 
viously the  work  of  the  dye  factory. 

She  was  talking  and  laughing  loudly.  She  held  Dob- 
rington's  arm,  and  seemed  to  be  piloting  him,  rather  than 
he  piloting  her,  to  a  seat  opposite  where  Sunny  and 
Curtiss  sat. 


276  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Know  that  chap?"  Curtiss  muttered.  "Lord  Dob- 
rington.  Rather  a  decent  sort,  or  used  to  be;  that  cat's 
got  him  in  her  toils.  Bad  lot !  Don't  look  at  her,  Sunny ! ' ' 
he  said  suddenly.  "I  don't  like  to  think  of  your  looking 
at  that  sort  of  woman.  I  say,  haven't  you  had  enough 
of  this?  Let's  clear  out,  old  girl!" 

11  I'm  ready,  Arthur ! ' '  she  said.    "Let's  clear  out ! " 

And  they  cleared. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

MISS   CASSON  CALLS 

"pvEAR  MISS  CASSON,— I  do  not  know  you  and 
I—/  you  don't  know  me,  but  I  have  something  of 
importance  to  tell  you — something  that  it  is  necessary 
for  you  to  hear.  I  would  be  glad  if  you  could  kindly  call 
on  me  at  this  address  this  morning  between  twelve  and 
one  o'clock.  I  shall  be  waiting  for  you.  Kindly  send  an 
answer  to  this  letter  by  bearer,  and  oblige. — Yours 
obediently, 

"  SUNNY  DUCROW." 

It  had  taken  Sunny  from  half-past  seven  to  half-past 
nine  to  write  this  letter,  but  it  was  done  at  last.  She  had 
destroyed  half  a  quire  of  note-paper  in  the  attempt,  and 
even  now  she  was  not  altogether  satisfied  with  it. 

"I  didn't  ought  to  say  'Dear  Miss  Casson,'"  she 
muttered.  "She  isn't  dear  to  me;  she'd  be  dear  at  any 
price.  Besides,  her  name  isn't  Casson.  Anyhow,  I'm 
sick  of  writing.  I  shan't  write  any  more! " 

She  sent  the  letter  by  a  messenger.  "Wait  for  an 
answer, "  she  said. 

"And  who,"  Mrs.  Melkin  demanded — "who  might 
you  have  been  writing  to,  Elizabeth  Ann? " 

"The  Pope  of  Rome,"  Sunny  said  briefly. 

"Elizabeth  Ann,  don't  you  tell  me  no  lies,  not  even  in 
play.  Lying ' ' 

"'Go's  a  liar?"  Sunny  said.  "You  said,  'Who  might 

277 


278  Sunny  Ducrow 

I  have  been  writing  to? '  And  I  said  the  Pope  of  Rome; 
so  I  might,  but  I  was  not.  See?" 

"Then  who?" 

"You  mind  your  own  business,  old  love !  "   Sunny  said. 

"I  don't  like  this  here  secrecy,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said. 
"It  breaks  my  heart,  after  all  I  done  for  you,  after  all  the 
years  I  was  your  only  friend,  and  now  not  to  be  took 
into  your  confidence;  it's  'eart-breaking !  "  Mrs.  Melkin 
whined.  "  'Eart-breaking  is  the  only  word  to  use."  She 
glared  at  Evelyn.  "You  make  noo  friends  and  bring  'em 
'ome  without  as  much  as  by  your  leave,  nor  with  your 
leave!  I  don't  count  for  nothing  after  the  years  of 
sacrifice  and  toiling  and  moiling  I  gone  through  to  keep 
you  clad  and  fed  respectable  and " 

"Sunny!" — Evelyn  looked  up — "Sunny  dear,  I — I  do 
not  think  your  aunt  likes  me  to  be  here  with  you;  if — if 
it  makes  unhappiness,  I  will  go!  " 

"Don't  you  talk  rubbish!  "  Sunny  said.  "Why,  she 
just  loves  you  to  be  here!  " 

"I  don't!  "  Mrs.  Melkin  said.    "I  don't!  " 

"Yes,  you  do;  if  Evelyn  wasn't  here,  what  would  you 
have  to  grumble  at?  And  if  you  didn't  have  anything 
to  grumble  about,  you'd  be  an  unhappy  woman,  you 
would!" 

"Sunny,  I — I  don't  want  to  make  trouble,"  Evelyn 
said.  "I've  been  happy  here— happier  than  I  ever 
thought  to  be.  I  shall  never  forget  all  your  goodness  to 
me,  but  I  could  not  stay  where  I  am  not  wanted." 

"You  are  wanted, "  Sunny  cried. 

"You  ain't!"  Mrs.  Melkin  said  viciously.  "Elizabeth 
Ann  Ducrow,  I  don't  want  that  young  woman  here  at 
all!" 

"Then  I  shall  go,"  Evelyn  said  quietly;  she  rose  as 
she  spoke.  "I  shall  never  forget  the  happy  hours " 

"Sit  down!"  Sunny  said. 


Miss  Casson  Calls  279 

"If  she  wants  to  go,  why  not  let  her  go?  I  wouldn't 
go  and  keep  a  body  against  her  wish, "  Mrs.  Melkin  said. 

"Aunt,  you  shut  up!"  Sunny  said. 

"This — this  to  me  who  fed  you  and  done  right  by  you 
and " 

"Shut  up!"  Sunny  said.  "Aunt,  you  git  on  my 
nerves!" 

"Elizabeth  Ann  Ducrow!" 

Sunny  turned  to  her  aunt ;  she  took  her  by  the  arm  and 
marched  her  out  of  the  room.  In  the  little  back  bedroom 
they  had  a  heart-to-heart  talk.  What  Sunny  said  did  not 
matter;  it  affected  Mrs.  Melkin,  it  reduced  her  to  tears. 

"After  me  moiling  and  toiling  and  fair  breaking  my 
heart  to  see  you  was  kep'  respectable  and " 

"You  get  that  off  your  mind,"  Sunny  said.  "You 
never  done  it  for  me.  I  don't  want  to  hurt  your  feelings, 
but  it's  your  fault.  I'm  not  going  to  have  that  girl  driven 
out  of  this  house.  And  you've  got  to  make  up  your  mind 
to  that,  aunt.  I  earned  money  since  I  was  eleven  years 
old;  all  I  earned  I  brought  to  you;  the  bits  I  had  didn't 
cost  as  much  as  I  paid  you.  I  don't  owe  you  nothing; 
you  owe  me  a  lot;  you're  living  here  comfortable  and 
happy  on  my  money,  and  so  you  can  go  on  living  till  the 
end.  I  shan't  never  desert  you  nor  let  you  down,  but 
you've  got  to  get  the  better  of  your  miserables  or " 

"Or  what,  Elizabeth  Ann  Ducrow?" 

"Or  you'll  get  a  pound  a  week  to  live  on  and  shift  for 
yourself.  There  isn't  no  law  compels  me  to  keep  you  to 
live  with  me." 

Mrs.  Melkin  looked  at  the  bright,  resolute  face  before 
her.  She  saw  defeat  for  herself.  It  was  her  Waterloo, 
Sunny's  victory.  Mrs.  Melkin,  though  a  foolish  woman, 
had  a  streak  of  sense  in  her.  She  saw  it  and  she  gave 
way;  she  broke  down  and  wept  copiously. 

"Now  what  you've  got  to  do  is  to  hop  it  into  the  next 


280  Sunny  Ducrow 

room,"  Sunny  said,  "and  tell  Evelyn  you  didn't  mean 
nothing,  and  it's  only  your  bad  temper,  which  you  are 
going  to  try  and  get  the  better  of.  See?" 

"Yes,  Elizabeth  Ann,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said. 

"And  off  you  go !  "  Sunny  said. 

Mrs.  Melkin  gathered  herself  together;  she  charged 
into  the  next  room. 

"You  didn't  ought  to  take  no  notice  of  me;  I'm  a 
lonely  widow  woman  and  I  'ave  my  moments  of  grief," 
she  said.  "I  don't  want  you  to  go,  my  dear;  I  like  you 
very  much,  and  it  makes  me  'appy  to  think  you're 
comfortable  'ere.  I  'ope  you  won't  think  nothink  more 
about  going!  " 

"You — you  mean  it?"  Evelyn  asked. 

"I  do — of  course  I  do, "  Mrs.  Melkin  said,  "and  there's 
the  kiss  of  forgiveness!"  she  added. 

Sunny  came  in  and  found  them  embracing. 

"So  that's  all  right!"  she  said.    "Here's  Bert!" 

Bert  came  in;  he  looked  smart;  he  was  wearing  a 
brand-new  suit.  There  was  something  almost  painful 
about  the  crease  down  the  front  of  his  trousers ;  he  carried 
a  new  billycock  hat  in  his  hand. 

"Law,  ain't  you  a  swell?"  Sunny  said. 

Bert  blushed;  the  blush  extended  to  his  ears. 

"Turn  round  and  let's  'ave  a  look  at  you!"  Sunny 
cried.  "Evy,  did  you  ever  see  anything  so  beautiful  to 
look  at?  Look  at  him!  Hold  your  head  up,  Bert,  do!  " 

"Who'd  think  he  come  out  of  a  factory?"  Sunny 
went  on. 

"It  isn't  fine  clo's,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said.  "It's  the  'eart 
behind 'em!" 

"Inside  'em!"  Sunny  said.  "Bert  don't  carry  'is 
'eart  on  'is  back!  Goodness,  don't  I  wish  as  I  hadn't  got 
an  appointment  this  morning.  I'd  walk  up  and  down 
Regent  Street  with  Bert  till  I  felt  ready  to  drop,  so  all 


Miss  Casson  Calls  281 

the  girls  should  see  me  and  get  mad  with  envy.  Evy, 
you've  got  to  go  instead  of  me!  " 

Evelyn  flushed.    ' '  But — ' '  she  said. 

Sunny  looked  keenly  at  Bert ;  his  face  was  still  very  red. 

"You  go  and  get  your  bonnet  and  shawl  on,  my  dear," 
she  said.  "There,  run  along,  and  don't  keep  the  gentle- 
man waiting! " 

Evelyn  ran  out  and  came  back  in  a  few  minutes,  very 
lovely,  with  a  rare  color  in  her  face.  She  was  ready,  and 
Bert  looked  at  her  admiringly. 

' '  You  two !  ' '  Sunny  laughed.  ' '  Oh,  you  two,  you  ought 
to  be  labelled  '  Dangerous ! '  Like  the  pickles  as  Johnson's 
don't  make.  It'll  be  a  happy  day  for  London,  you  two 
walking  about  the  street  together." 

Bert  looked  sheepishly  at  Evelyn;  she  looked  at  him. 
They  went  out  and  Sunny  laughed  again. 

"Elizabeth  Ann,  I  thought  one  time  you  had  the  in- 
tention of  marrying  young  Jackson  yourself,"  Mrs. 
Melkin  said. 

"You  thought!"  Sunny  said.  "Me  marry?  Not 
me!  I'm  too  busy.  Don't  you  go  thinking  too  much, 
aunt;  you'll  be  wearing  your  bonnets  out  with  your  brain 
working  so  'ard  underneath  them,  which  reminds  me,  you 
ain't  had  a  new  bonnet " 

"Not  for — monse  and  monse!"  Mrs.  Melkin  said. 
"Not  that  I  mind  going  shabby,  I " 

"The  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  go  out  this  minnit 
and  get  yourself  one,"  Sunny  said. 

"They've  got  some  good  shapes  at  Gaskett's  for  eight- 
and-eleven!  "  Mrs.  Melkin  said. 

"You  take  this  sovereign  and  get  yourself  something 
you'll  look  a  picture  in!  "  Sunny  said.  "You  go  at  once. 
I'll  be  dying  to  see  you  when  you  come  back!  " 

She  sighed  as  she  watched  Mrs.  Melkin  from  the 
window  down  the  street;  it  had  just  struck  twelve. 


282  Sunny  Ducrow 

Would  Miss  Gilly  Casson  come,  or  would  she  not? 

Sunny  stood  by  the  window;  she  watched  the  dreary 
street.  A  quarter-past  twelve,  half-past,  twenty  to  one, 
and  then  a  car,  a  sumptuous  landaulette,  whirled  round 
the  corner  and  came  noiselessly  up  the  street.  It  stopped 
outside  the  door  of  Sunny's  house,  the  door  opened,  and 
a  young  woman  alighted. 

"It's  her — her  all  right!"  Sunny  muttered.  "Law, 
Sunny  Ducrow,  pull  yourself  together,  my  gel;  it's  got 
to  be  a  fight,  but  it's  worth  righting  for !  Hold  up  your 
head,  Sunny  my  girl,  and  keep  smiling!  " 

"A  lady  to  see  you,  miss!  "  the  landlady  announced. 

Sunny  nodded;  she  shivered  a  little,  but  clenched  her 
fists. 

"Show  her  in!"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

MISS  CASSON  WRITES  A  NOTE 

IN  all  this  world  there  never  breathed  a  kindlier  little 
soul  than  Sunny  Ducrow.   But  Sunny  could  be  brave 
and  strong  when  she  liked.    That  firm,  clean-cut  mouth 
and  that  stubborn  little  chin  of  hers  had  not  been  given 
to  Ijer  for  nothing. 

Miss  Gilly  Casson  swept  into  the  room;  she  held  her 
head  high,  tilted  backwards,  so  that  she  could  look  at 
Sunny  through  half-closed  eyes.  She  swept  a  glance 
round  the  room,  and  shrugged  her  shoulders  in  contempt. 

"I  had  your  letter,"  she  said.  "I  regarded  it  as  a 
piece  of  impertinence.  People  of  your  class  who  wish 
to  see  me,  generally  come  and  wait  my  convenience, 
they  don't  send  asking  me  to  come  to  them!  However, 
I  make  allowance  for  your  ignorance  and  I  came!" 

"Very  kind  of  you  too!"  Sunny  said.  "Won't  you 
sit  down?" 

Miss  Casson  dropped  languidly  into  a  chair.  The 
strong  sunlight  shone  in  through  the  window;  it  lighted 
up  her  face.  The  light  was  searching  and  somewhat 
cruel.  It  showed  lines  and  a  roughness  of  skin  that  the 
shaded  lights  of  evening  more  charitably  passed  over. 

"Well,"  Miss  Casson  said,  "since  I  am  here,  what  do 
you  want?  You  are — on  the  stage,  I  believe — a  chorus 
girl,  or  something  of  the  sort?" 

"Something  of  the  sort!"  Sunny  said.  "Anyhow  it 
doesn't  matter  about  what  I  am,  it's  what  you  are!" 

283 


284  Sunny  Ducrow 

Miss  Casson  lifted  her  eyes  languidly. 

"May  I  ask  what  it  is  to  do  with  you? "  she  said. 

Sunny  realized  that  it  would  be  very  awkward  to 
begin.  If  she  could  only  lose  her  temper,  but  she  could 
not;  she  did  not  feel  in  the  least  like  losing  her  temper 
for  all  Miss  Casson's  insolence. 

"Well,  my  good  girl,  I  came,  here  I  am!  What  is  it? 
Money  you  want  to  borrow,  or  something  of  the  kind? 
If  so,  let  me  tell  you  that  there's  nothing  doing!  I 
don't  lend  to  penniless  chorus  girls." 

"S'pose,"  Sunny  said — "s'pose  you  wait  till  you're 
asked?" 

"Very  well,  then,  what  is  it?" 

"It's  something,"  Sunny  said  slowly — "something 
to  do  with  the  third  of  August! " 

Miss  Casson  started.  "I  don't  understand  you," 
she  said  sharply. 

"Third  of  August,  two  years  ago!"  Sunny  said. 

The  woman  flushed  under  her  rouge  and  whitening. 
"Make  yourself  clear,"  she  said.  "I  do  not  understand 
you." 

Sunny  was  beginning  to  feel  more  at  her  ease;  she 
pitied  the  woman  in  her  heart,  but  she  knew  that  she 
must  not  give  way  to  pity.  Pity  would  spoil  everything, 
and  she  had  work  to  do  that  must  not  be  spoiled. 

"It  isn't  no  good  me  and  you  beating  about  no  bush!" 
she  said.  She  put  her  elbows  on  the  table  and  rested 
her  firm  little  chin  on  her  hands.  "I  just  want  to  tell 
you  straight  that  I  know  who  you  are,  and  I  know  what 
you  did,  and  what  you  suffered  for  it,  Miss  Morania 
Gilbert!" 

The  other  held  herself  in  control;  she  did  not  start 
this  time. 

"Blackmail,  I  suppose?"  she  said  sharply.  "Well, 
how  much?" 


Miss  Casson  Writes  a  Note      285 

"That's  for  you  to  say,  not  me!  It's  me  as  is  going 
to  do  the  paying!"  Sunny  said.  "That's  what  I  want 
to  know — how  much?" 

"You  mean  how  much  am  I  willing  to  pay  you  to 
keep  your  tongue  silent?  Ah,  ha!"  She  laughed  sud- 
denly. "You  are  very  clever,  or  you  think  you  are, 
young  woman!  But  you've  made  the  mistake  of  your 
life!  I  am  not  Morania  Gilbert — something  like  her, 
I'll  admit.  I  knew  her,  poor  wretch!" 

"She  got  nine  months,  didn't  she,  for  shoplifting?" 
Sunny  said. 

"I — I  forget — I  am  sure  I  don't  know;  I  was  not 
greatly  interested!  What  has  all  this  to  do  with  me?" 

"It's  got  a  lot  to  do  with  you,  Miss  Gilbert!" 

"My  name  is  Casson!" 

"Now  it  is,  but  it  used  not  to  be;  one  time  it  used  to 
be  Morania  Gilbert!" 

"Then  you — you  dare  to  suggest  that  it  was  I " 

"I  don't  suggest  nothing,  I  say  it  straight  and  plain 
— you  was  Morania  Gilbert  what  got  caught  stealing 
things  from  Myhills.  You  got  nine  months,  and  when 
you  came  out  you  changed  your  name  to  Casson,  keep- 
ing the  Gilbert  as  a  Christian  name.  See?" 

The  other  woman  rose  suddenly.  "Well,  and  what 
has  it  to  do  with  you?  I  deny  it — it's  a  lie;  it's  an 
attempt  at  blackmail!" 

"It  isn't  because  I  haven't  asked  for  nothing.  You 
deny  it — look  at  this!"  She  held  out  a  picture  post 
card  to  Miss  Casson. 

"Well?     I  see  a  photograph  of  myself!" 

"Turn  it  over!"  Sunny  said. 

Miss  Casson  turned  it  over;  on  the  back  was  written: 

"I  recognize  the  portrait  on  the  other  side  as  that  of 
Morania  Gilbert,  who  was  charged  and  sentenced  for 
shoplifting  August  19 — .  Signed,  F.  G.  Bridges." 


286  Sunny  Ducrow 

"See?"  Sunny  said. 

Gilly  Casson's  hand  shook;  into  her  eyes  there  came 
a  look  of  wild  anger.  "Well,  what  does  it  mean?"  she 
said.  "What  does  it  mean  that  you  have  been  interest- 
ing yourself  in  me?  I  deny  it — understand,  it  is  a 
mistake.  This  is  an  attempt  at  blackmail!  What  is 
to  prevent  me  from  calling  in  the  police  and  having 
you  arrested  at  once?" 

"Nothing  much!"  Sunny  said.  "Except  that  I  went 
to  the  police  myself  yesterday  just  to  make  dead  certain 
sure,  and  showed  'em  this  photygraft,  and  they  agreed, 
like  Mr.  Bridges  did,  that  it  was  the  same  Miss  Morania 
Gilbert." 

"Then — then  you  mean  blackmail?  How  much  do 
you  want?" 

"I  told  you  before!"  Sunny  said.  "That  it  isn't  how 
much  do  I  want,  it's  how  much  do  you  want?  Look 
here!  I'm  sorry  for  you — more,  I  can  say  I  hate  doing 
it,  I  do  reely.  But  I  got  to  do  it,  for  her  sake,  and  for 
his  too!" 

"Her — his?     Who  are  you  talking  about?" 

"Lady  Blessendale  and  her  son,  the  Viscount!" 
Sunny  said.  "Both  their  sakes,  that's  why  I  sent  for 
you;  that's  why  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  know  all 
about  you.  I  don't  want  to  threaten.  I  hate  doing  it. 
I  want  you  to  believe  I'm  sorry  for  you " 

"Why  don't  you  speak  out?  What  do  you  mean? 
What  do  you  want?" 

"Just  this!"  Sunny  said.  "You've  got  to  give  up 
the  Viscount,  Stanley — I  mean  Lord  Dobrington.  You 
know  you  ain't  his  class.  He  don't  know  anything 
much  about  you.  He's  just  gone  silly  about  you." 

"The  gentleman  you  speak  of  is  my  promised  hus- 
band!" 

Sunny  nodded.     "I  know,  or  guessed  it  might  be; 


Miss  Casson  Writes  a  Note      287 

but  it  is  not  coming  off.  I'm  sorry.  The  question  is, 
how  much  will  you  take  to  quit  quietly?" 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  how  much  will  I  take  to  release 
Lord  Dobrington  from  his  promise  to  me?" 

"That's  it!"  Sunny  said. 

"I  will  take  nothing.  Nothing  shall  induce  me  to 
give  him  up!" 

"I'm  sorry  then  it'll  be  him  as  will  have  to  give  you 
up,  only  it  would  come  better  from  you.  You  see,  if 
you  don't  give  him  up,  I  shall  have  to  tell  him  all  I  know, 
and — and  not  that  only,  I  shall  tell  everyone  else.  Every 
one'll  get  to  know  that  Gilly  Casson  and  Morania  Gil- 
bert is  the  same,  and  that  she  got  nine  months  for  shop- 
lifting. It  sounds  mean,  don't  it,  and  I  hate  doing  it, 
but  I  got  to.  I  promised  her  I'd  get  him  free,  and  I'm 
going  to  do  it !  See? " 

She,  too,  had  risen.     SJhe  stared  the  other  in  the  eyes. 

"And — and  you  think  I  fear  you?" 

"Not  me,  but  my  tongue!  Listen!"  Sunny  said. 
"When  you  go  out  of  this  house,  if  you  don't  listen  to 
reason,  I  go  first  straight  to  him.  I  tell  him  everything 

about  you.  Then  I  go  to  the  Weekly "  She  paused. 

"You  know  the  paper — the  paper  as  digs  up  things 
about  people?  They'll  be  glad  enough  to  put  it  in  when 
I  show  'em  my  proofs.  You  know  the  sort  of  thing: 
4  Is  it  true  that  the  popular  young  dancer,  as  is  engaged 
to  a  certain  young  lord,  was  once  known  under  another 
name  and  got  nine  months  for  shoplifting?'  Something 
like  that.  Maybe  a  bit  stronger.  I'll  bet  you  one 
thing,  it'll  be  known  from  one  end  of  London  to  the 
other  inside  a  week!  Well?" 

"I — I  shall  deny  it,  and  sue  you  and  the  papers, 
and " 

"You  can't ! "  Sunny  said.  " My  proofs  are  too  strong 
for  you,  and  you  know  it !  I'm  sorry  to  have  to  threaten 


288  Sunny  Ducrow 

you,  I  hate  doing  it,  I  feel  low  and  mean  doing  it,  but  I 
got  to,  and  that's  all  about  it !  Now,  if  you're  sensible, 
you'll  listen  to  me.  I  can  pay  you  something  handsome; 
you'll  release  him,  and  you  can  go  on  just  as  you  are. 
You're  well  known,  and  getting  a  good  salary.  It  isn't 
as  if  you  was  down  and  out " 

Gilly  Casson  crossed  the  room  to  the  window.  She 
stood  staring  out. 

"Let  me  think,  you  little  wretch!"  she  said. 

"You  take  your  time,  only  get  on  with  it!"  Sunny 
said.  "Because  aunt  will  be  coming  back  with  her  new 
hat,  and  I  don't  want  her  to  know  anything!" 

The  woman  did  not  answer;  she  stood  with  her  back 
to  the  room.  Sunny  moved  about  restlessly;  she  looked 
at  her,  she  felt  sorry — very,  very  sorry  for  the  woman; 
but  she  knew  that  she  must  show  no  sign  of  pity.  Dob- 
rington  must  be  saved.  She  had  promised  his  mother 
that  she  would  save  him,  and  she  had  to  do  it. 

Presently  Miss  Casson  swung  round. 

"I'll  take  ten  thousand  to  clear  out ! "  she  said  sharply. 

"Ten  hundred!"  Sunny  said  briefly. 

"Not  a  penny  less  than  ten  thousand,  and  it's  little 
enough  considering  what  I  might  have." 

"Ten  hundred  is  a  lot  considering  what  you  would 
get  when  he  knows  the  truth  about  you,"  Sunny  said. 

"Ten  thousand!" 

"Nothing  doing!"  Sunny  said. 

"Up  to  what  amount  have  you  instructions  to  go?" 
Miss  Casson  asked. 

"That's  my  business.  I  offer  you  a  thousand  pounds 
— a  nice  little  sum  too!" 

"I  refuse  it  with  scorn.  I  will  take  eight  thousand  at 
the  very  lowest!" 

"We're  only  wasting  time,"  Sunny  said.  "It's  like 
this !  If  you  don't  accept  my  terms,  you  don't  get  noth- 


Miss  Casson  Writes  a  Note      289 

ing  when  Dobrington  knows  the  truth  about  you.  He'll 
throw  you  up  all  right.  You  couldn't  take  action  against 
him,  because  if  you  did  it  would  all  come  out  who  you 
were  and  why  he  gave  you  up.  See?  I'll  be  generous 
and  make  it  two  thousand!" 

"Five!"  Miss  Casson  said.  "Five  thousand  the 
lowest!" 

Sunny  shook  her  head.  "Sorry,"  she  said.  "I  can't 
do  it !  Time's  getting  short ;  I  think  I  hear  aunt  coming 
in.  If  we  don't  make  an  arrangement  before  she  comes 
I'll  have  to  go  and  see  Dob." 

"Four  thousand!"  Miss  Casson  said.     "Four!" 

"I'll  meet  you  half-way  and  make  it  three.  That's 
the  last  I've  got  to  say!"  Sunny  said. 

For  a  moment  the  woman  hesitated. 

"Yes,  good,  very  well,  I'll  take  it — three  thousand! 
What  do  you  wish  me  to  do?" 

' '  Just  sit  down  and  write,  and  write  quick ! ' '  Sunny  said. 

The  woman  sat  down.  "And  the  money? "  she  asked. 
"How  do  I  know " 

"You'll  get  the  cheque  before  you  go  out  of  this 
room,"  Sunny  said.  "Now  write: 

"  Dear  Lord  Dobrington —  Got  that?"  Sunny 
asked. 

Miss  Casson  nodded. 

"After  very  careful  consideration,"  Sunny  went  on, 
"and  having  given  much  thought  to  the  matter,  I 
have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  a  marriage  between  our 
two  selves  would  be  a  great  mistake.  I  should  miss  the 
excitement  of  my  present  life,  and  would  never  be  able 
to  settle  down  to  married  life.  I  am  therefore  writing 
this  letter  to  ask  you  to  consider  our  engagement  at 
an  end.  The  presents  you  have  given  me — "  Miss 
Casson  looked  up  quickly. 

"Got  that?"  Sunny  asked. 


290  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Yes." 

"  The  presents  that  you  have  given  me  I'll  keep. " 
Miss  Casson  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  "But  all  the 
letters  I  have  had  from  you  I  will  undertake  to  return 
in  the  course  of  a  few  days.  I  would  like  you  to  under- 
stand that  this  is  final  and  definite,  and  that  nothing 
will  make  me  alter  my  mind. " 

"Got  that?"  Sunny  asked. 

"Yes." 

"Then  all  you  got  to  do  is  to  sign  it  Gilly  Casson!" 
Sunny  said.  "He'll  know  who  it  comes  from  better 
than  if  you  signed  the  other  name." 

"And  the  money?"  Miss  Casson  asked. 

Sunny  sat  down.  She  took  out  Lady  Blessendale's 
cheque  and  filled  in  the  amount — three  thousand  pounds. 

"You'll  give  me  a  receipt  for  that,  please!"  she  said. 
"Put  it  this  way — 'Received  from  Miss  Sunny  Ducrow, 
acting  on  behalf  of  Lady  Blessendale,  the  sum  of  three 
thousand  pounds  in  consideration  of  my  not  marrying 
Lord  Dobrington. ' ' 

"Very  well!" 

"I'll  find  the  penny  stamp!"  Sunny  said.  "I'll  run 
to  that  myself,  and  that's  about  all,  I  think,"  she  added. 
' '  Aunt's  coming ! ' ' 

Miss  Casson  rose.  She  held  out  the  papers  and  took 
the  cheque. 

"That's  all  right,  and  I'd  like  to  tell  you  this— I'm 
sorry,  dead  sorry,  I  had  to  do  it!  One  thing" — Sunny 
paused — "one  thing  I  want  to  ask  you" — she  paused, 
she  looked  at  the  other  woman  wistfully — "did — did 
you  love  him?" 

Miss  Casson  laughed  stridently.  "I  am  not  a  fool!" 
she  said.  "No,  I  did  not!"  She  snapped  her  fingers. 
"I  didn't  give  that  for  him;  it  was  the  position  and  the 
money  I  wanted!" 


Miss  Casson  Writes  a  Note      291 

Sunny  sighed,  "I'm  glad,"  she  said;  "if  you'd  cared 
much  I'd  nave  hated  myself.  Now — now  it's  over" — 
she  paused — "now  it's  over  and  done  with,  I'd  like  to — 
to — "  She  held  out  her  hand. 

"No,  thanks!"  Miss  Casson  said.  She  drew  back. 
"One  thing  I  will  promise  you — Miss — er  Sunny 
Ducrow,  if  I  can  ever  do  you  a  mischief  I  shall  do  it 
with  much  pleasure " 

"That's  all  right,  then!"  Sunny  said.  "Now  we 
understand  one  another!" 

It  was  ten  minutes  later  that  Mrs.  Melkin  plodded, 
breathing  heavily,  up  the  stairs.  She  came  into  the 
room.  Sunny  looked  up. 

"Law,"  she  said,  "you  got  your  hat,  and  what  a 
picture  you  do  look!  Why,  I'm  blessed  if  you  didn't 
ought  to  be  on  the  stage  yourself,  aunt!" 

Mrs.  Melkin  sniffed. 

"I  was  somethink  to  look  at,  I  was,  when  I  was  a 
gel!"  she  said.  "And  I  ain't  lost  all  my  looks  neither; 
oh  no,  don't  you  flatter  yourself,  Elizabeth  Ann,  I  dare 
say  I  get  as  much  admiration  as  you  do  any  day!" 

"More,"  Sunny  said.  "Because  you  ain't  got  my 
'orrible  'air." 


CHAPTER  XL 

AN   ACT   OF   FRIENDSHIP 

"T  S'POSE  I  didn't  ought  to  be  here,"  Sunny  said. 

1  Viscount  Dobrington  stared  at  her;  he  looked  ill 
and  worn — haggard;  he  seemed  to  have  lost  the  fresh- 
ness of  his  youth.  Compared  with  what  he  had  been  a 
few  short  weeks  ago,  he  looked  an  old  man  almost. 

"Sunny!"  he  said. 

"That's  me!"     She  stepped  into  the  room. 

"It's  good  to  see  you,  little  Sunny!"  he  said.  "My 
Heavens,  when  I  think — "  He  paused  suddenly. 
"Well,  old  girl,  what  is  it?" 

"I  got  a  letter  for  you." 

' '  A  letter  for  me !     From  whom  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  someone!"  Sunny  said;  she  sat  down  uninvited. 
"Dob,  you  ain't  looking  yourself." 

"I  don't  feel  myself.  If  ever  a  mad  fool — "  He 
paused.  "Well,  it's  no  good  grousing,  is  it?  As  one 
makes  one's  bed,  so  must  one  lie  on  it." 

"Unless  you  can  get  someone  to  remake  it,"  Sunny 
said.  "And  I  ain't  a  bad  hand  at  bedmaking — always 
made  my  own  and  auntie's  in  the  old  days." 

"You're  a  good  little  soul,"  he  said.  "A  dear  little 
pal,  Sunny.  I  wish,  I  wish  that — "  He  paused 
again.  "Well,  it's  no  good  wishing,"  he  said. 

"You  ain't  happy?"  Sunny  asked. 

"Happy!"  He  laughed  drearily.  "I'm  about  the 
most  miserable,  unhappy  wretch  on  the  face  of  the  earth, 

2Q2 


An  Act  of  Friendship  293 

Sunny  Ducrow.  Look  at  me,  look  hard,  and  you'll  see 
the  biggest  fool  ever  born." 

"How's  that?"  Sunny  asked. 

"Oh,  you — you  are  too  young  to  understand,"  he 
said. 

"I  s'pose  I  am;  I've  got  my  perambulator  waiting 
for  me  outside,"  Sunny  said.  "And  I  can't  stop— reely 
I  didn't  ought  to  be  here  at  all.  Look  here,  Dob!" 
She  went  towards  him  and  held  out  her  hand.  "Tell 
me  straight  and  honest,  what's  wrong?" 

"Everything  is  wrong,  old  girl.  I've  made  an  ass  of 
myself — the  biggest,  confounded  ass  that  a  man  could 
make  of  himself,  I've  done  it!'* 

"Done  what?     Is  it  a — a  woman?" 

"Yes!"  he  said.  "Temporary  insanity,"  he  said, 
with  a  bitter  laugh.  "I  thought  her  wonderful;  she 
took  hold  of  me,  I  went  mad,  behaved  like  a  wild  fool, 
asked  her  to  be  my  wife,  and  she  has  accepted.  And — 
and  of  course  I'm  bound  to  go  through  with  it  now!" 

"Why?"  Sunny  asked. 

"Why?"  he  cried.  "Why?  Why,  because  I  asked 
her,  because — hang  it,  I  may  be  a  fool,  but,  thank  Heav- 
ens, I  am  still  a  gentleman — because  I  regard  a  promise 
given  as  sacred,  no  matter  to  whom  it  is  given." 

Sunny's  eyes  flamed.  "Dob,  you're  white!"  she  said. 
"Real  white,  and  I  love  you  for  it!  I  didn't  come  here 
meaning  to  do  it,  but  I'm  going  to  all  the  same!"  She 
stood  on  the  tips  of  her  toes,  she  put  her  arms  round  his 
neck,  and  gave  him  a  sounding  kiss. 

"There's  your  letter,  old  dear!"  she  said.  "Read  it 
when  I  am  gone,  and  then — then — "  She  laughed. 
"Hold  up  your  head  and  keep  smiling,  Dob."  She 
turned  to  the  door. 

' '  Sunny ! "  he  said.  ' '  Sunny ! "  He  was  staring  at  the 
handwriting.  "Sunny  come  back!"  But  she  laughed 


294  Sunny  Ducrow 

at  him  from  the  doorway  and  kissed  her  hand  to  him, 
and  a  moment  later  she  was  gone. 

Sunny  curled  her  feet  under  her  on  the  sofa  and 
beamed  on  Lady  Blessendale. 

"Then — then  you  have  actually  succeeded,  you  clever 
child?"  her  ladyship  cried.  "Sunny  Ducrow,  you  have 
won!" 

"I  meant  to,"  Sunny  said,  "and  when  I  mean  to,  I  do 
it  gen'rally,  and  it  didn't  cost  such  a  wonderful  lot 
neither;  there  are  two  thousand  pounds  change  for  you. 
I  only  filled  it  in  for  three  instead  of  five." 

"And — and  she  took  it — was  content;  she  will  not 
attempt  to " 

"Nothin',"  Sunny  said.  "She  didn't  care  for  him, 
and  he  was  fed  up,  fair  worried  to  death !  Only  he  asked 
her,  and,  being  a  gentleman,  he  didn't  see  how  he  was 
to  break  no  promises.  I  left  him  reading  the  letter 
from  her  which  tells  him  she  isn't  going  to  marry  him. 
I'll  bet  it's  the  nicest  letter  he  ever  had,  and  I'll  betcher," 
Sunny  went  on,  "that  he'll  be  popping  round  to  see  you 
before  the  day's  out,  looking  as  happy  as  a  sandboy. 
Oh,  it's  all  right,  all  right,  and  it's  cost  three  thousand!" 

"You  wonderful  child!"  her  ladyship  said.  "Sunny, 
is  it  really  true?" 

"Dead  true,  sure  as  I'm  sitting  here,"  Sunny  said. 
"He  didn't  reely  love  her,  he  told  me;  he'd  gone  tempo- 
rary mad,  but  he's  come  to  his  senses  again.  Oh,  he'll 
be  glad  all  right,  you  wait  and  see,  and  now  I  must  pop 
off;  the  way  I've  been  neglecting  my  own  business  is 
simply  shameful!" 

"  Sunny,  I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me.  Wait ! " 
Her  ladyship  sat  down,  she  wrote  rapidly  for  a  few 
moments,  then  came  to  Sunny. 

"Sunny  dear,"  she  said,  "I — I  want  you  to  keep  the 


An  Act  of  Friendship  295 

change;  here  it  is,  two  thousand  pounds,  and  never  was 
the  money  better  earned.  Will  you  take  it,  dear  child, 
with  my  most  grateful  thanks?" 

Sunny  turned  red  and  then  white;  she  rose.  "  I — I'm 
sorry,"  she  said.  "I  s'pose  I've  been  a  bit  of  a  fool. 
I — I  thought  I  was  doing  it  friendly  like  for — for  you. 
I  don't  realize  that  a  lady  like  you  wouldn't  want  to 
take  a  favor  from  a  girl  like  me  without — without 
paying  for  it." 

Lady  Blessendale  colored;  slowly  she  tore  the  cheque 
across  and  across. 

"Dear,"  she  said,  "you  misunderstand  me.  I — I 
accept  what  you  have  done,  and  I  shall  regard  it  and 
remember  it  as  the  act  of  a — a  dear  little  friend!"  She 
put  her  arms  around  Sunny  and  held  her  tightly. 

Ten  minutes  later  Sunny  went  out;  her  feet  scarcely 
seemed  to  touch  the  pavement.  Her  face  was  radiant, 
her  red  lips  smiled,  her  eyes  danced.  Then  she  saw  him. 
Sunny  looked  round;  she  saw  a  doorway  and  darted 
into  it,  and  stood  there  till  Viscount  Dobrington  had 
passed.  She  saw  him  ascend  the  steps  of  the  family 
mansion  and  ring  the  bell. 

"That's  all  right!"  Sunny  whispered.  "That's  all 
right!" 


CHAPTER  XLI 

THE  BOOMING  OF  "JOHN  CROW" 

good    girl,    my    dear    Sunny,    Tragedy!    You 
with  your — excuse  me — red  hair  and  turned- 
up  nose  and " 

"Don't  you  worry  about  my  hair,"  Sunny  said.  "As 
for  my  nose  being  turned-up,  what  about  Bertha  Rail- 
ton?  Don't  her  nose  turnupmore'nmineif  any  thing,  and 
ain't  she  '  It '  in  tragedy,  or  anything  else,  come  to  that  ? " 

"Bertha  Railton  isn't  Sunny  Ducrow!"  Arthur  Curtiss 
said. 

"Because  Sunny  Ducrow  ain't  proved  what  she  can 
do,  and  Bertha  Railton  has,"  Sunny  said.  "I'm  for 
tragedy  all  the  time,  Arthur!" 

He  laughed. 

"  If  I  spoke  to  Barstowe  about  it,  he'd  have  three  fits!" 
he  said. 

"Don't  you  worry;  you  let  me  talk  to  him  about  it. 
I've  got  the  sketch  here,  and  Bert  wrote  it." 

"It'll  be  a  farce,"  Curtiss  said.  "A  tragedy  written 
and  acted  by  Sunny  Ducrow,  it'll  be  a  screaming  farce 
from  beginning  to  end!  Hang  it,  I  don't  know  that  it 
would  not  be  a  good  move  to  put  it  on  and  advertise  it 
as  a  screaming  farce!" 

"Go  it!"  Sunny  said;  she  smiled.  "You  can't  rile 
me,  Arthur!" 

"My  dear  child,  I'm  not  trying  to  rile  you,  I'm  just 
trying  to  show  you  common  sense!" 

296 


The  Booming  of  "John  Crow"    297 

"A  sample  out  of  your  stock,"  she  said,  "warranted 
not  to  run  in  the  wash!  Look  here" — she  set  her  small 
teeth — "this  here  sketch  is  going  to  be  played,  and  Sunny 
Ducrow  is  going  to  play  it.  See?" 

"I'll  bet  Barstowe  never  puts  on  a  sketch  that  you 
write  and  in  which  you  want  to  act  a  tragedy  part,  my 
girl!" 

' '  Betcher ! ' '  Sunny  said.     "  Betcher ! ' ' 

"Let  me  have  the  thing!"  Curtiss  said.  "It'll  be 
amusing  to  run  through  it!" 

"You'll  split  your  sides  with  laughing!"  Sunny  said. 
"With  your  sense  of  humor  you'll  laugh  yourself  more 
silly  than  you  are  now!" 

"Let  me  have  it,  any  way!"  he  said;  he  held  out  his 
nice  white,  well-kept  hand  for  the  script. 

"You  read  it  and  it'll  do  you  good!"  Sunny  said. 
"I'll  look  back  later!"  She  gave  him  the  script  and 
went  out. 

She  felt  a  little  angry,  but  she  was  glad  that  she  had 
not  shown  it.  The  sketch  was  finished.  The  Betrayal 
had  been  touched  up  and  touched  up  again.  She  and 
Bert  had  sat  over  it  for  hours  and  hours.  Finally  they 
had  told  one  another  that  it  was  good,  and  further 
meddling  would  do  it  harm,  so  they  left  it. 

Sunny  went  out  into  the  street.  Opposite  her  was  a 
great  hoarding;  from  the  hoarding  huge  red  letters 
struck  her  in  the  eyes. 

"JOHN  CROW 

JAMS, 
PICKLES, 
SAUCES, 

The  same  as  mother  makes. 
"John  Crow ' '  means  purity ;  see  that  you  get  it ! " 


298  Sunny  Ducrow 

It  was  all  over  London;  not  a  hoarding  but  shrieked 
the  same  glad  tidings  to  every  passer-by.  Sunny  stood 
and  stared.  "That  looks  good!"  she  said.  "Betcher 
John  Crow's  going  to  boom — Mossy  knows  something!" 

Sunny  hailed  a  cab;  she  gave  the  man  directions,  and 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  later  she  stood  in  Cutway  Street. 

Mr.  Johnson  was  in  his  office;  he  looked  radiant. 

"Hello,  Partner!"  he  shouted. 

" Hello ! "  Sunny  said.     " How's  it  going? " 

"Strong,  splendidly — orders  rushing  in!"  he  said. 
"This  advertising  scheme  is  beating  us  hollow.  I  don't 
know  how  we'll  keep  up  with  the  orders!" 

"Oh,  you'll  keep  up  with  'em  all  right!"  Sunny  said. 
"Next  thing  we've  got  to  consider  is  a  new  factory." 

"My  dear  girl!" 

"I've  got  it  in  my  mind!"  Sunny  said.  "Just  outside 
London — close  to  the  railway,  of  course.  Of  course 
we'll  have  to  build,  and  we'll  run  up  a  hundred  cottages." 

Mr.  Johnson  stared  at  her.  "My — my  dear  Sunny!" 
he  said.  "Anything  upset  your  mental  balance?" 

"Not  as  you  could  notice!"  Sunny  said.  "Only  you 
don't  look  ahead  and  I  do.  We've  got  to  find  a  tract 
of  land  and  put  up  a  factory,  then  we'll  run  up  cottages 
for  the  workpeople.  We'll  call  it  John  Crow  Town,  and 
it'll  be  a  place  for  folk  to  come  and  see.  Swimming- 
baths  and  club-house  and  reading-rooms  and  laundry 
and— 

Mr.  Johnson  rubbed  his  hands  through  his  hair. 
"Go — go  steadily!"  he  gasped.  "You  sweep  me  off 
my  feet!" 

Sunny  laughed.  "I  see  it  all,  if  you  don't!"  she  said. 
"What's  more,  I  know  where  the  land's  to  be  got;  it's 
to  be  got  cheap,  too,  because  the  chap  as  it  belongs  to 
goes  about  with  his  eyes  shut!" 

"Really?  "he  said. 


The  Booming  of  "John  Crow"   299 

"Well,  it's  like  this:  the  land  is  about  half  a  mile 
from  the  railway  line;  if  it  were  dead  on  the  line,  it 
would  be  worth  six  times  what  he  asks  for  it !  But  half 
a  mile  isn't  a  wonderful  long  distance  to  lay  down  a  track, 
is  it?" 

"I— I  see!  "he  said. 

"Thank  goodness  you  can  see  something!"  Sunny 
said. 

"There's  six  acres,  and  he  wants  a  hundred  an  acre. 
It's  giving  it  away;  then  there's  thirty  acres  belonging 
to  another  bloke  all  touching  this  six.  We'll  want  that 
too,  but  the  other  chap's  more  spry,  or  else  he  don't 
want  money  so  badly.  Anyhow,  I'll  betcher  in  the  end 
I'll  get  all  at  a  hundred  an  acre.  See?" 

"But  the  money?" 

"That'll  be  three  thousand,  six  hundred!"  Sunny  said. 
"Then  there's  the  cost  of  running  up  the  factory.  Well, 
that  won't  be  much.  There  won't  be  no  upstairs,  for 
one  thing;  it'll  be  just  a  low  building,  taking  up  about 
two  acres  to  start  with.  We  can  add  other  buildings 
from  time  to  time.  I  reckon  we  can  stick  the  first  build- 
ing up  for  say  two  thousand — that's  five  thousand,  six 
hundred.  Then  the  cottages,  we'll  build  'em  in  pairs. 
Twenty  pairs  will  be  enough  to  start  with,  and  I've 
reckoned  them  out  at  two  hundred  and  fifty  a  pair; 
that's  another  five  thousand,  isn't  it?" 

"Stop ! "  Mr.  Johnson  said.  "  It's  a  fortune !  Where's 
the  money  coming  from,  Sunny?" 

"Oh,  I'll  find  it  all  right,  don't  you  worry.  Of  course 
we'll  have  to  make  a  company  of  it !  First  to  last,  we'll 
want  twelve  thousand  pounds,  and  say  another  thousand 
for  boiling-plant  and  the  like — thirteen  thousand." 

"We  shall  never  get  it!"  Johnson  said. 

"Betcher!"  Sunny  said.  "Betcher  we'll  be  moving 
in  this  day  twelvemonth!" 


300  Sunny  Ducrow 

"I'll  bet  you  a  new  silk  dress  and  a  hat  to  match  we 
aren't!"  Mr.  Johnson  said. 

Sunny  nodded.  "Betcher!"  she  said.  "An  overcoat 
and  a  new  hat  and  a  pretty  new  tie  against  my  dress 
and  hat!"  She  held  out  her  hand. 

They  shook  hands  on  it. 

Sunny  went  back  to  the  Realm;  she  left  Mr.  Johnson 
a  little  dazed.  "That  girl!"  he  muttered.  "She's  a 
wonder!  This  time,  however,  she  has  bitten  off  more 
than  she  can  chew!" 

Sunny  laughed  to  herself.  She  had  made  her  plans, 
and  she  meant  to  carry  them  out. 

"First  thing,  I'll  get  an  option  on  them  thirty-six 
acres  right  bang  away!"  she  thought.  "After  that, 
I'll  get  to  work!  Well?"  She  opened  the  door  of  Mr. 
Curtiss's  room. 

"Well?"  he  said.  "I've  read  it,  Sunny;  you — you 
didn't  write  it?" 

"  Not  all ;  me  and  Bert  wrote  it  between  us ! " 

"But  hang  it!"  he  said. 

"Oh,  hang  it  if  you  like,  but  we  done  it  all  the  same!" 

"It's  not  bad  stuff,"  he  said;  "in  fact,  it's  good!  But 
— but,  Sunny  Ducrow,  I  can't  see  you  in  that  part;  it's 
a  sheer  impossibility!" 

"Betcher!"  Sunny  said.  "You'll  see  me  in  that  part 
all  right!" 

He  shook  his  head.  "Barstowe  wouldn't  think  of 
it!"  he  said.  "Wouldn't  dream  of  it!  You'll  do  all 
right  for  revue,  my  girl,  and  for  pretty,  pretty  little  songs 
and  nice  scenic  effects,  but  when  it  comes  to  sheer  tragedy, 
you're  no  go!" 

"If  you'd  seen  me  working  in  the  pickles,  sticking  on 
labels,  and  looking  after  the  boiling,"  Sunny  said,  "you'd 
have  said  to  yourself — that  girl's  all  right  for  this  job, 
but  put  her  on  the  stage  with  a  pretty,  pretty  song  and 


The  Booming  of  "John  Crow"  301 

nice  scenic  effects  and  she'd  be  done  and  out.  You'd 
have  said  that  just  because  you  don't  know.  That's 
why  you  are  talking  this  way!  You  don't  know,  and 
you  never  will  know  until  you  see!" 

"Barstowe  will  never  listen  to  the  suggestion!"  he 
said. 

"He'll  do  more  than  listen,  he'll  jump  at  it!  Betcher 
that  sketch  is  on  at  the  Realm  before  two  months  is  out, 
and  that  Sunny  Ducrow  will  be  playing  lead!" 

"I'll  bet  you  anything  you  like " 

"No,  I'm  not  betting,"  Sunny  said.  "I'm  fed  up  with 
betting.  Gi'  me  that  script  over;  I'm  going  to  get 
Barstowe  to  read  it!" 

"He  won't!" 

Sunny  smiled;  her  lips  framed  her  favorite  word, 
"Betcher,"  but  she  did  not  utter  it. 

"You'd  better  give  in,  Sunny.  Don't  aim  at  the 
impossible!" 

"Nothing's  impossible  so  long  as  you  hold  your  head 
up  and  keep  smiling ! "  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XLII 
CURREN'S  AND  RAS'BERRIES 

SUNNY  stepped  out  of  the  train  and  looked  about 
her.  Yes,  it  was  all  right — "Balmer,  for  Potshall 
and  Copping."  Balmer,  that  was  the  name  of  the  station 
on  her  ticket. 

It  was  a  glorious  morning  and  a  Wednesday.  Bar- 
stowe  never  went  to  the  Realm  on  a  Wednesday ;  it  was 
a  hard-and-fast  rule  he  had  made  years  ago.  Wednes- 
day London  never  saw  Barstowe.  On  Wednesdays, 
Saturdays,  and  Sundays  he  was  no  longer  Barstowe  of 
Barstowe  Realms,  but  Squire  Barstowe  of  Potshall,  or, 
if  others  preferred  it,  Farmer  Barstowe;  he  did  not 
mind  in  the  least. 

The  Realms  were  all  very  well;  they  were  a  gigantic 
success.  Barstowe  had  proved  himself  to  be  a  man  in 
ten  thousand;  he  stood  at  the  very  head  of  the  music- 
hall  profession.  To  be  looked  up  for  a  Realm  Circuit 
was  the  ambition  of  all  the  lesser  music-hall  stars. 
Barstowe  was  a  name  to  conjure  with  in  the  music- 
hall  profession.  But  for  three  days  of  the  week — Wed- 
nesday, Saturday,  and  Sunday — Barstowe  sank  it  all. 
He  put  on  a  shabby  velveteen  coat,  corduroy  breeches, 
hobnail  boots,  and  gaiters.  He  put  a  straw  between  his 
lips  and  dragged  a  disreputable  old  hat  on  his  head  and 
became  Squire,  or  Farmer,  Barstowe.  He  talked  crops 
with  other  farmers  at  the  Lion  and  Garter,  Potshall. 
On  Wednesday,  market  day,  he  pinched  pigs  and  felt 

302 


Curren's  and  Ras'berries        303 

the  limbs  of  horses.  He  talked  the  jargon  of  the 
horse  trade  of  the  cattle  market  and  of  the  agriculturist, 
and  to  look  at  him  one  would  never  think  for  a  moment 
that  he  had  ever  been  inside  a  music-hall  in  his  life. 

Barstowe  led  a  double  life  but  it  was  a  very  innocent 
one.  Mondays,  Tuesdays,  Thursdays,  and  Fridays  he 
was  Barstowe  of  the  Realms,  Barstowe,  king  of  the 
music-hall  world,  Barstowe,  who  engaged  stars  at 
several  hundred  pounds  a  week  apiece  and  never  turned 
a  hair.  Wednesday  he  was  Farmer  Barstowe  at  Potshall 
Market,  and  would  argue  and  fight  and  cheapen  a  cow, 
or  a  pig,  or  a  beast,  and  stand  out,  if  necessary,  for  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  over  a  matter  of  thirty  shillings. 

Saturday  he  was  Farmer  Barstowe  again,  and  he 
tramped  his  fields  and  watched  the  growth  of  his  grain 
and  the  fattening  of  his  cattle,  and  interviewed  his 
bailiff  and  his  farm-servants.  Sunday  he  was  Squire 
Barstowe,  and  set  a  good  example  to  Potshall.  He  rode 
to  church  in  an  antique  family  barouche,  drawn  by  two 
fat  white  horses.  He  sat  with  his  stout,  comfortable, 
good-natured  wife  in  the  Squire's  pew,  which  had  passed 
to  him  naturally  when  he  acquired  Potshall  Manor 
House.  In  fact  for  three  days  out  of  seven,  Barstowe 
was  a  simple-minded,  English  country  gentleman,  who 
seemed  to  have  no  interests  on  this  wide  earth  save 
those  connected  with  the  growing  of  crops,  the  rearing 
of  sheep  and  cattle  and  pigs,  the  housing  of  his  tenants, 
and  the  setting  of  a  good  example  on  Sundays.  While 
the  other  four  days  out  of  the  seven  he  was  a  different  per- 
sonage. He  was  Barstowe  of  Barstowe  Realms,  the 
giant  of  the  music-hall  profession,  the  man  who  had 
Realms  dotted  all  over  the  country — Manchester. 
Bradford,  Hull  and  Liverpool,  Glasgow,  Newcastle  and 
Birmingham,  and  at  least  a  score  of  other  towns  beside; 
the  man  who  had  a  clear  knowledge  and  a  firm  grip  on 


3<>4  Sunny  Ducrow 

each  separate  branch  of  the  great  Realm  establishments, 
who  knew  to  a  penny  the  salary  every  artist  was  drawing 
from  him,  and  exactly  how  long  the  contracts  lasted  and 
what  the  clauses  were.  There  was  no  man  who  knew 
his  business  better  from  A  to  Z  than  Barstowe  on 
Monday,  Tuesday,  Thursday,  and  Friday,  and  on  the 
other  three  days  he  knew  nothing,  and,  by  the  expression 
of  his  face,  gave  the  suggestion  that  he  had  never  heard 
of  Harry  Lauder  and  did  not  know  who  George  Robey 
was. 

And  to-day  was  Wednesday  and  a  gloriously  fine 
Wednesday. 

"How  far  is  Potshall?"  Sunny  asked. 

"Potshall,  miss?  A  matter  of  three  mile!"  the  porter 
said.  "You  go  straight  on  there,  and  then  turn  when 
you  come  to  the  Courtney  Arms,  then  straight. on  for  a 
mile,  or  maybe  a  mile  and  a  half,  then " 

"All  right!"  Sunny  said.  She  nodded  to  him  blithely 
and  stepped  out  down  the  road. 

" Law,  ain't  it  pleasant  to  be  in  the  country? "  When 
I  get  on  a  bit  and  get  good  money,  I'll  live  in  the  country 
myself,"  she  muttered.  "I'll  have  a  nice  little  house 
and  a  garden,  and  keep  a  bee  and  a  pig,  and — and  a  hen 
or  two,  that's  my  mark!  Does  you  good,  doesn't  it, 
to  get  away  from  the  smoke  and  the  row  and  all  that? 
Not  that  London's  so  dusty ! "  she  added.  "  I  seen  worse 
places,  and  it  ain't  treated  me  bad!" 

She  walked  on,  whistling  shrilly  in  the  lightness  of 
her  heart. 

She  had  made  the  thirty-five  mile  journey  from  Lon- 
don to  see  Barstowe  and  to  discuss  the  future  of  her  and 
Bert's  sketch  with  him,  but  just  how  she  was  going  to 
manage  it  Sunny  did  not  know.  Arthur  Curtiss  had 
warned  her  solemnly  and  tragically. 

"It's  like  this,  Sunny,"  he  said.     "  If  you  go  to  Potshall 


Curren's  and  Raspberries        305 

and  run  Barstowe  to  earth  and  get  talking  Realm  to 
him,  you're  done  for  good  and  all;  he'll  never  forgive 
you;  he'll  never  look  at  you  again  nor  listen  to  you. 
Potshall  is  sacred — sacred  to  crops  and  pigs  and  cows; 
no  one  ever  mentions  Barstowe  Realms  there.  I  went 
down  once  and  I  know.  Take  it  from  me,  if  you  go  there 
thinking  to  get  at  him  that  way,  you're  riding  for  a  fall, 
and  then  good-bye  to  all  your  chances  at  Barstowe 
Realms.  See?" 

"I  see!"  Sunny  said.  "But  there's  more  ways  into  a 
house  than  through  the  front  door,  old  dear.  You  leave 
it  to  me." 

Sunny  wrinkled  her  brows  in  deep  thought  as  she 
walked  along.  She  had  no  plan — no  plan  at  all  with 
which  to  approach  the  great  Barstowe.  As  Arthur 
Curtiss  had  said,  she  would  ride  for  a  fall  if  she  attempted 
to  tackle  Barstowe  on  music-hall  matters  on  a  day  sacred 
to  pigs,  horses,  and  cows  and  crops. 

"Hello!"  she  said  to  herself  suddenly. 

She  stopped  and  looked  through  a  gateway.  A  fine, 
old-fashioned  Elizabethan  house,  standing  far  back  from 
the  main  road,  in  its  spacious  grounds ;  it  was  a  noble- 
looking  old  house,  and  it  bore  every  evidence  of  the 
utmost  care  having  been  taken  in  its  upkeep.  The 
grounds  were  in  fine  order.  There  was  a  huge  lawn, 
dotted  with  splendid  trees,  a  lake  in  front  of  the  house 
which  mirrored  the  whole  structure  on  its  placid  surface. 

Stretching  away  to  right  and  left  Sunny  could  see 
orchards  and  large  tracts  of  land,  evidently  under  fruit 
and  vegetable  cultivation,  while  in  the  far  distance  were 
lines  of  farm-buildings  and  distant  views  of  arable  and 
meadow  lands. 

"Who's  this  belong  to?"  Sunny  asked. 

The  farm  laborer,  to  whom  she  addressed  the  ques- 
tion, touched  his  hat. 


306  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Mister  Barstowe,  miss,"  he  said.  "Squire  Barstowe 
that  is!  Rich  gentleman,  miss,  and  the  biggest  farmer 
hereabouts.  They  do  say" — he  paused — "they  do  say 
as  he  has  something  to  do  with  a  theatre  in  London." 

"I've  heard  he  has,"  Sunny  said.     "Thank  you!" 

She  waited  till  the  old  man  had  gone,  then  she  pushed 
open  a  side  gate  and  went  in. 

Uninvited,  Sunny  wandered  about  at  her  own  sweet 
will  for  about  half  an  hour,  then  she  happened  across  a 
laborer. 

"  I'm  just  taking  a  look  about  Mr.  Barstowe's  grounds," 
she  said.  "Grows  a  wonderful  lot  of  fruit,  don't  he?" 

"Yes,  miss;  wonderful!"  the  man  said. 

"Curren's  and  ras'berries  and  like  that  I  suppose — 
tons  of  'em,  eh?"  Sunny  asked. 

"Yes,  miss;  wonderful  fine  croppers,  Mr.  Barstowe 
has  got,  and  he  looks  after  the  soil  too.  They  say  it 
takes  Kent  to  grow  strawberries,  but  you  should  see 
ours  in  the  season.  And  then  the  plums  too — it's  a 
wonderful  year  for  plums,  miss.  I'll  show  you." 

He  took  her  round,  and  Sunny  saw  a  great  deal.  The 
man  spoke  truly.  Barstowe  evidently  knew  a  great 
deal  about  fruit  culture. 

"What  does  he  do  with  it?"  she  asked. 

"Markets  it,  miss;  sends  it  up  to  Coving  Garden, 
what  we  can't  sell  locally." 

"I  see!"  Sunny  said  thoughtfully.  "But  does  it 
pay  him?" 

"I  expect  it  does!"  he  said.  "But  of  course  there's 
a  lot  of  waste,  and  sometimes,  when  fruit  ain't  selling 
well  in  the  market,  he  don't  see  much  profit  on  it.  Take 
them  plums — there's  going  to  be  a  glut  of  plums,  they 
say,  this  year — we  shan't  make  next  to  nothing  on  them." 

Sunny  nodded.  "How  many  plums  would  you  say 
you  have?" 


Curren's  and  Ras*  berries        3°7 

"I  reckon  not  fur  short  of  three  to  four  tons,"  he  said. 
"Mr.  Barstowe's  got  a  wonderful  belief  in  plums;  and 
then  them  apples,  all  the  best  sorts,  too — Cox's  Orange 
Pippins  and  Blenheim — while  the  cookers " 

Sunny  spent  another  hour;  at  the  end  of  it  she  gave 
the  man  five  shillings  and  set  off  afoot  once  more  for 
Potshall.  She  had  learned  that  Mr.  Barstowe  was  at 
Potshall  Market,  and  that  he  made  his  headquarters  at 
the  Lion  and  Garter.  Straight  to  the  Lion  and  Garter 
Sunny  went. 

The  coffee-room  was  filled  with  men,  farmers  and 
farmers'  sons.  There  was  a  strong  flavor  of  the  land 
about  them;  they  were  eating  an  immense  lunch. 

Sunny  ordered  lunch  for  herself  and  sat  at  a  side  table, 
and  while  she  ate,  she  watched  and  listened.  It  was 
not  long  before  she  spotted  Barstowe  sitting  amongst 
the  farmers.  He  was  holding  forth  on  the  subjects  of 
manures.  The  other  farmers  listened  respectfully  to  his 
views,  for  he  was  a  man  who  knew. 

"Wood-ash,"  Barstowe  was  saying,  "that  is  what  I 
pin  my  faith  on;  it  lightens  the  soil,  and  the  soil's  too 
heavy  here!  I  used  hundreds  of  tons  of  wood-ash." 

He  went  on  laying  down  the  law  and  thumping  the 
table. 

"Then  take  poultry,"  he  said.  "You  men  don't 
understand  the  value  of  poultry.  You  keep  half  a 
hundred  mangy  chickens  and  allow  them  to  run  about 
anyhow.  You  get  a  few  score  eggs — now  and  again  you 
get  none  when  eggs  are  fetching  their  price.  And  you 
get  too  many  eggs  when  eggs  are  worth  nothing,  com- 
paratively." 

"What  do  you  do,  Squire?"  a  man  asked. 

"Me?  I  keep  four  thousand  fowls,  and  everyone  is 
picked.  I  keep  first  cross  only,"  Barstowe  went  on. 
"I  allow  two  hundred  fowls  to  each  acre  of  orchard  and 


Sunny  Ducrow 

fence  'em  in;  every  six  months  I  clear  'em  off  the  ground 
and " 

Sunny  listened  interested.  This  was  a  man  who  knew. 
He  was  teaching  these  other  men  too,  and  they  were 
listening  interestedly. 

"That's  how  I  get  my  crops  that  set  you  all  wonder- 
ing," he  cried,  "and  that's  how  I  get  eggs  and  sell  'em  at 
a  big  profit  at  a  time  when  you  don't  see  an  egg  in  the 
whole  of  your  henhouses." 

The  other  men  were  rising  and  going  out,  one  by  one. 
Presently  there  were  Barstowe  and  a  few  others  left 
behind.  He  had  talked  so  much  that  he  had  forgotten 
his  lunch. 

"I'll  try  that  wood  scheme  of  yours,  Squire,"  one  man 
said. 

Barstowe  nodded. 

The  other  men  went  out;  only  Barstowe  and  Sunny 
were  left  behind.  She  had  finished  her  lunch;  she  rose 
and  went  over  to  his  table  and  sat  down. 

"Good-morning,  Squire!"  she  said. 

Barstowe  started  and  looked  at  her;  he  blinked  and 
frowned. 

"Good-morning!"  he  said  briefly;  he  turned  red. 

"I  heard  what  you  said  about  fowls  and  like  that," 
Sunny  said.  "You're  right.  I  don't  know  much  about 
it,  but  what  you  said  sounds  like  sense!" 

"Hum!"  Barstowe  said. 

"I've  been  looking  round  your  place,"  Sunny  said. 
"I  didn't  get  permission,  but  I  thought  you  wouldn't 
mind.  That's  a  fine  lot  of  plums  you've  got  coming  on." 

"Very  fine — yes,  a  fine  lot!"  Barstowe  said;  he  looked 
at  her  suspiciously.  He  knew  her,  of  course,  and  waited 
for  what  he  thought  was  coming,  and  he  frowned  again. 

"And  you  look  like  getting  a  big  crop  off  the  ras'- 
berries  and  curren's  this  year!"  Sunny  said. 


Curren's  and  Ras'berries        309 

"A  very  big  crop." 

"I  got  talking  to  one  of  your  men,  and  he  told  me 
about  the  way  you  market  'em.  I  fancy  you're  wrong 
about  that!" 

"Wrong,  hey?  What  do  you  know  about  marketing 
fruit  crops,  Miss  Ducrow?" 

"A  bit!"  Sunny  said. 

"Oh!"  he  muttered.     "You  do,  do  you?" 

"What  you  want  to  do  is  to  fix  a  certain  price,  a  fair 
price,  and  see  you  get  it." 

"That's  easier  said  than  done,  young  lady.  I  have  to 
take  what  the  market  fetches." 

"There's  no  need,"  Sunny  said.  "Take  us.  We 
buy  at  a  fair  fixed  price,  but  the  trouble  with  us  is  to 
get  the  fruit  good  and  dry  and  fresh." 

"Who  are  you?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"  Me?     I'm  Sunny  Ducrow ! " 

"I  know  that,  but  you  say  we  buy — what  do  you 
buy?" 

"Fruit  and  vegetables  for  jams  and  pickles,"  she  said. 
"I'm  partner  in  Johnson  &  Ducrow — the  John  Crow 
jams,  you  know." 

"Oh!"  he  said;  he  stared  at  her.  "John  Crow— I 
know  the  name!" 

"You  ought!"  she  said.  "It  smacks  you  in  the  eye 
on  every  hoarding.  We're  out,"  she  went  on,  "to  do  the 
finest  and  the  best  in  pickles  and  jams  and  sauces  in 
this  country.  We  sell  the  best  and  the  purest,  and  we 
want  to  buy  the  best  we  can  get  at  a  fair  price.  It  would 
pay  you  better  to  sell  your  crops  direct  to  us  at  a  fixed 
price  than  to  stock  the  markets." 

Barstowe  put  his  elbows  on  the  table;  he  was  filled 
with  wonder,  but  he  said  nothing.  This  girl,  he  thought 
she  had  come  to  pester  him  with  music-hall  affairs.  He 
remembered  the  trick  she  had  played  on  him  in  his  car 


310  Sunny  Ducrow 

that  day  when  she  sung  to  him  through  the  crowded 
streets  of  London.  But  this  talk  of  pickles  and  jams 
and  standing  crops  was  more  to  his  mind. 

"Well,  what  are  your  ideas?"  he  asked. 

"I'll  tell  you  straight!"  Sunny  said.  She  too  put  her 
elbows  on  the  table,  she  talked  quickly,  now  and  again 
she  waved  her  hand. 

"You  see,  we  make  a  point  of  telling  'em  all  the  time, 
'You  pay  a  penny  a  pound  more  for  purity,'  and  we 
guarantee  purity  all  the  time.  And  when  we  guarantee 
purity,  we've  got  to  satisfy  ourselves  that  we  are  buying 
the  purest  sugar  and  the  cleanest  and  soundest  fruit. 
Now  you  can  sell  the  sort  of  fruit  we  want,  and  we're 
in  the  market  for  it  at  a  fair  price." 

"But  your  output?"  he  asked. 

"It's  growing.  In  a  little  time  we  are  taking  thirty- 
six  acres  of  ground  and  putting  up  a  model  factory, 
where  the  public  will  be  invited  to  come  and  look  round 
and  see  how  everything  is  done.  It's  got  to  be  all  fair 
and  aboveboard.  We're  going  to  advertise  it  and  give 
nice  pictures  of  the  factory  and  the  girls'  club  and  the 
swimming-baths  and  like  that,  and  if  you  like,  we'll  put 
in  a  picture  or  two  showing  the  great  orchards  on  Squire 
Barstowe's  estates  at  Potshall,  which  supply  some  of 
the  fruit  used  by  us." 

"You're  very  young  to  be  interested  in  such  a  busi- 
ness!" Barstowe  said. 

"Nothing  like  starting  early!"  Sunny  said.  "I'd 
like  to  take  another  look  round  them  orchards." 

"So  you  shall!"  he  said.  He  was  interested.  No  one 
listening  to  them  would  have  guessed  for  one  moment 
that  Barstowe  had  any  connection  with  the  music-hall 
world,  or  that  Sunny  was  anything  else  in  life  than  one 
interested  in  the  production  of  pickles  and  jams. 

At  four  o'clock  that  afternoon,  when  Barstowe's  busi- 


Curren's  and  Raspberries        311 

ness  at  the  market  was  over,  he  drove  back  to  the  Manor 
House,  and  Sunny  drove  with  him. 

"It's  a  good  idea  that,"  he  said — "a  very  good  idea. 
I  had  thought  of  something  of  the  sort  myself,  but  I'm 
a  busy  man.  My  time  during  the  week  is  occupied; 
the  two  days  a  week  I  can  spare  to  the  work  here  are 
very  much  filled.  During  the  rest  of  the  week " 

"You've  got  something  to  do  with  the  music-hall 
world,  haven't  you?"  Sunny  asked. 

He  looked  at  her  and  grunted. 

"I  thought  I  knew  your  name,"  she  said.  "How- 
ever, that  don't  matter  now.  We'll  get  talking  about 
them  plums  and  cherries  and  curren's  and " 

Sunny  felt  fairly  tired  out  when  Barstowe  had  con- 
ducted her  round  the  orchards  and  fruit-growing  plots 
again.  It  was  growing  late  too — nearly  seven — and 
Sunny  realized  that,  while  she  had  undoubtedly  struck 
some  good  business  for  the  jam  factory,  she  was  as  yet 
as  far  off  as  ever  from  her  and  Bert's  sketch. 

"This  new  factory  scheme  of  yours!"  Barstowe  said. 
"Is  it  in  operation  yet?" 

"Not  quite  yet,  but  it's  going  to  be.  I'm  going  to 
let  some  of  my  friends  come  in  and  take  a  share,"  Sunny 
said.  "  You  see,  we'll  want  a  bit  more  money  than  we've 
got.  We're  doing  grand  business  now  in  Cutway  Street, 
but  the  place  isn't  big  enough,  and  not  that  alone,  it  is 
not  the  sort  of  place  I  want.  I  want  a  show  place  you 
can  make  pictures  of  and  get  the  newspaper  people  to 
come  down  and  see!" 

He  nodded.  "And — and  the  shares?"  he  said. 
"What  money  will  you  be  asking  for?" 

"About  twelve  thousand!"  Sunny  said.  "And  that's 
for  buying  the  land  freehold  and  putting  up  the  build- 
ings. We're  making  the  goodwill  all  the  time  and  ad- 
vertising big  now." 


312  Sunny  Ducrow 

Barstowe  nodded.  "I'd  like  to  have  a  talk  with  your 
partner,  Miss  Ducrow.  I  might  be" — he  paused — "I 
might  be  inclined  to  take  a  hand  in  the  matter.  It 
strikes  me  as  being  a  good  scheme,  but" — he  paused — 
"it's  late;  are  you  not  occupied  during  the  evening?" 

"I  got  the  night  off,"  Sunny  said.  "I  arranged  with 
Mr.  Curtiss;  he's  the  manager  there.  Miss  Sinclair's 
going  to  do  my  song  to-night." 

"  I  see ! "  Barstowe  said,  then  he  paused  again.  "  Look 
here,  Miss  Ducrow,  if  you  are  not  engaged,  you  might 
come  in  and  dine.  I'll  introduce  you  to  my  wife.  We'll 
chat  over  this  factory  scheme  of  yours.  You  can  let 
me  know  exactly  how  you  stand  and " 

"Right  you  are!"  Sunny  said. 

Mrs.  Barstowe  was  a  kindly  soul,  and  she  took  to 
Sunny  on  sight,  just  as  Sunny  took  to  her.  It  was  a 
good  dinner,  and  Sunny  enjoyed  it,  and  after  dinner  the 
three  sat  and  talked  jam  and  pickles.  Sunny  made  all 
her  plans  and  ideas  clear  to  Barstowe,  and  he  nodded 
approvingly. 

"Anyway,  we  can't  lose  much.  We'll  have  the  land 
and  we've  got  the  business,  and  it's  growing — going 
up  with  a  bang.  People  seem  to  take  to  that  idea  of 
mine  about  asking  'em  to  pay  a  penny  a  pound  for  purity. " 

At  ten  Mrs.  Bartowe,  who  had  insisted  on  Sunny's 
staying  the  night,  showed  her  to  her  bedroom. 

"I  think  you  are  a  wonderful  girl,"  she  said.  "And 
a  very  clever  girl.  Mr.  Barstowe  is  greatly  impressed 
with  you,  and — and  you  are  on  the  stage,  are  you  not?" 

"Yes,"  Sunny  said.  "Only  I  didn't  mention  it,  being 
a  Wednesday." 

"Then  you  know  that  Mr.  Barstowe  never  discusses 
theatrical  matters  on  Wednesday?" 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Sunny  said,  "so  I  never  said  a  word, 
Only" — she  paused — "I've  got  something  I  want  to 


Currents  and  Ras'berries        313 

talk  to  him  about  all  the  same.  It's  a  sketch  me  and 
Bert  have  written,  and  I  want  to  play  it  bad."  She 
paused.  "It's  all  right,  all  I've  been  saying  about  the 
jams  and  pickles  and  fruit-growing  and  all  the  rest. 
I'm  crazy  to  get  that  factory  going,  but  I'm  also  crazy 
to  get  that  sketch  played,  and  I've  got  to  tackle  him 
somehow." 

"To-morrow,  I  dare  say  you  could  get  an  opportunity. 
I  shall  suggest  that  he  takes  you  up  to  town  with  him." 

"You're  a  dear!"  Sunny  said. 

"Still,  I  admit  Robert  is  a  very  obstinate  man,"  Mrs. 
Barstowe  said.  "It  is  very  hard  to  make  him  listen 
to  anything  he  does  not  wish  to  hear." 

"I  know!"  Sunny  said.  "But  I  believe  I'll  manage 
it  somehow." 

Mrs.  Barstowe  kissed  her  warmly  and  left  her,  and 
Sunny  slept  the  sleep  of  the  innocent  and  thoroughly 
tired  out.  Whatever  happened,  she  had  done  a  good 
day's  work  for  the  jam  factory,  though  the  object  she 
had  come  here  for  had  not  yet  been  attained. 

Barstowe  had  practically  said  that  he  was  willing  to 
put  down  if  not  all  the  capital  required  for  the  new  factory 
at  any  rate  a  great  part  of  it.  He  had  waxed  almost 
enthusiastic — certainly  more  enthusiastic  than  Mr. 
Arthur  Curtiss  had  ever  seen  him. 

"If  it  materializes,"  he  said,  "I  don't  know  that  I 
shan't  put  in  another  twenty  acres  or  so  under  straw- 
berries." 

In  fact,  in  his  mind  that  night  he  had  planted  another 
ten  thousand  currant  bushes,  the  same  quantity  of  rasp- 
berry canes,  and  so  on.  His  business  was  Barstowe 
Realms,  but  his  interest  in  life  was  here  at  Potshall. 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

MR.    BARSTOWE   ATTENDS  A  MATINEE 

SUNNY  awakened;  it  was  full  early;  she  could  tell 
that  by  the  general  appearance  of  things.  It  was 
an  experience  for  her  to  wake  up  with  the  sound  of  birds 
singing,  the  clucking  of  the  hens,  and  the  lowing  of  cattle. 
For  a  moment  or  two  she  lay  with  closed  eyes,  wondering 
where  she  was,  and  enjoying  it  thoroughly. 

"Yes,  when  I'm  fixed  up  and  the  jam  factory's  in  full 
swing  and  I'm  getting  about  a  hundred  a  week,  I'll  have 
a  nice  little  cottage  in  the  country  for  myself!"  she 
said. 

She  got  up  and  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out; 
she  drank  in  the  fresh  air  and  bathed  her  face  and  neck 
and  chest  in  the  warm  sunlight. 

"I  can't  make  out  how  anyone  can  live  in  London 
when  they  could  live  in  the  country,"  she  muttered. 
"  Well,  there  it  is,  everyone's  got  their  own  tastes.  Some 
like  the  smell  of  soot  and  some  don't,  and  some — " 
She  paused. 

She  saw  someone — a  large,  rather  ungainly  figure, 
hands  in  pockets,  strolling  about  the  model  farmyard. 
Now  he  bent  over  a  fence,  evidently  deeply  interested, 
probably  in  pigs  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence.  Now  he 
straightened  himself  up;  he  uttered  a  clucking  noise 
which  attracted  a  score  or  so  of  hens;  he  put  his  hands 
into  his  capacious  pockets  and  distributed  grain,  which 
they  were  in  a  moment  busily  picking  up. 


Mr.  Barstowe  Attends  a  Matinee  315 

"Enjoys  every  blessed  minute  of  it,  he  does!"  Sunny 
muttered. 

It  was  Barstowe,  and  Barstowe  had  not  yet  read  her 
sketch.  The  thing  she  had  come  to  do  had  not  been 
done. 

"But  it's  gotter  be!"  Sunny  muttered.  "Gotter  be, 
and  it's  going  to  be  done  soon — precious  soon!" 

It  took  Sunny  not  very  long  to  dress;  then  she  hurried 
down  the  stairs  and  out  into  the  garden.  It  was,  she 
discovered,  just  about  six  o'clock. 

"Just  about  the  time  I  used  to  be  starting  for  the 
factory  once,"  she  thought.  "Lor*!  isn't  this  dif- 
ferent?" She  had  brought  her  sketch;  she  had 
thrust  it  out  of  sight  in  the  bosom  of  her  blouse. 
Now  she  was  hunting  for  Barstowe.  Last  time  she 
had  seen  him,  he  had  been  making  across  a  field. 
Sunny  followed. 

Ten  minutes  later  she  caught  sight  of  him;  he  was 
walking  with  his  hands  behind  his  back  and  approach- 
ing a  stack  of  hay.  For  some  minutes  he  stood  regarding 
the  stack  with  interest.  He  plucked  out  some  pieces 
of  hay,  examined  them,  and  tasted  them.  Barstowe  of 
the  Realms  did  not  exist.  This  man  was  a  hay  merchant 
pure  and  simple.  He  walked  round  the  stack,  and  Sunny 
watched  him.  Against  the  stack  leaned  a  ladder. 
Twice  Barstowe  approached  it,  as  though  it  had  a  fascina- 
tion for  him. 

"  Oh ! "  Sunny  whispered.     "  Oh,  if  he  would ! " 

And  he  did!  Slowly  and  surely  Barstowe  climbed 
the  ladder.  Now  and  again  he  paused  to  examine  the 
stack  more  closely.  Eventually  he  gained  the  top  and 
stepped  on  to  the  top  of  the  stack. 

It  was  what  Sunny  had  hoped  for  and  waited  for;  she 
ran  forward.  What  happened  he  did  not  see,  nor  did 
he  hear;  but  a  few  minutes  later,  his  investigations  over, 


3l6  Sunny  Ducrow 

he  made  up  his  mind  to  return  to  the  earth  and  found 
that  the  ladder  was  gone. 

It  was  not  exactly  gone;  it  was  still  there,  but  it  was 
lying  along  the  ground  under  the  stack. 

"How  on  earth?"  he  muttered.  "What  the  dickens? 
Bless  me!" 

The  stack  was  at  the  far  end  of  a  large  field.  He  knew 
that  he  might  shout  himself  hoarse,  and  it  was  not  likely 
he  would  be  heard  for  a  very  considerable  time. 

"But  how  on  earth  did  the  thing — "  he  muttered. 
"Hello!"  He  looked  down  and  Sunny  looked  up. 

"Good-morning,"   she  said.     "Taking  the  air?" 

"I — ahem! — I  climbed  the  stack  by  a  ladder,"  he 
said;  "the  ladder  seems  to  have  slipped." 

"So  it  does!"  Sunny  said. 

"It  is  not  heavy,"  Barstowe  said.  "I  think  you  could 
easily  put  it  in  place;  if  not,  would  you  run  and  tell  one 
of  the  men  to  come?" 

Sunny  nodded.  "  It's  a  nice  morning, ' '  she  said ;  ' '  and 
I  wanted  to  speak  to  you." 

"All  right,  we'll  talk  when  I  come  down,"  he  said. 
" Now,  like  a  good  girl,  lift  the  ladder!" 

"There's  heaps  of  time!  It's  only  a  quarter-past 
six!"  Sunny  said. 

"But " 

"And  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  It's  not  about  jam  and 
the  factory  this  time;  it's  something  different.  You 
see,  to-day  isn't  Wednesday — yesterday  was  Wednes- 
day. To-day  you're  Mr.  Barstowe  of  the  Realms,  aren't 
you?" 

"Yes,  of  course,  but " 

"Well,  it  isn't  Squire  Barstowe  I  want  to  talk  to  now, 
it's  Mr.  Robert  Barstowe  of  the  Realms.  See?" 

"I  see,  but  I  can't  talk  to  you  up  here.  Put  the 
ladder " 


Mr.  Barstowe  Attends  a  Matinee  31? 

"Heaps  of  time;  besides,  it's  me  to  do  the  talking!" 
Sunny  said.  "You  can  sit  down  comfortable  and  listen. 
It's  about  a  sketch." 

Barstowe  glared  down  at  her.  "You  can  take  it  to 
Curtiss,"  he  said. 

"He's  seen  it.  He  thinks  it's  ripping,  but  he  says  I 
couldn't  do  the  part;  he  says  a  girl  with  my  nose,  and 
hair  my  color  is  no  good  for  tragedy." 

"Very  likely  he  is  right!" 

"He  isn't;  he's  dead  wrong,"  Sunny  said.  "Now" 
— she  produced  the  manuscript  from  her  blouse — "if 
you'll  sit  down,  you  can  listen  comfortably." 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort,  Miss  Ducrow.  I  insist 
that  you  go  and  call  one  of  the  men  if  you  are  not  able 
to  raise  the  ladder  yourself." 

"Heaps  and  heaps  of  time  for  that!"  Sunny  said. 
"Won't  you  listen?" 

"No!"  he  said,  "certainly  not.  I  shall  certainly  not 
listen  to  any  sketch,  or  anything  else,  while  I  am 
here." 

' '  But  it  won't  take  twenty  minutes  for  me  to  read " 

"I  refuse  to  hear  a  word  of  it!"  he  said. 

"I'm  sorry!"  Sunny  said.    She  turned  away. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  Barstowe  asked. 

"Oh,  for  a  walk,  and  like  that!"  she  said. 

"Put  the  ladder  up." 

"It's  too  heavy." 

"Then  go  and  call  one  of  the  men." 

"Will  you  stop  first  to " 

"No;  I  will  not!"  he  said  angrily. 

"Well,  I  don't  see  why  I  should  do  something  for  you 
when  you  won't  do  something  for  me!"  Sunny  said. 
She  looked  up.  "Come  now!"  she  said. 

"I  refuse  to  hear  one  word.  This  is  not  the  time  nor 
the  place  for  anything  of  the  kind.  Put  the  sketch 


3*8  Sunny  Ducrow 

before  Curtiss  and  he  will  deal  with  it;  if  he  thinks  well 
enough  he  will  recommend  me  to  read  it." 

"He's  scared  out  of  his  life  of  you.  He's  a  nice  boy, 
and  I'm  very  fond  of  him,"  Sunny  said,  "but  he's  too 
scared  of  you  to  be  any  good.  I've  got  to  read  this  here 
sketch  to  you  myself." 

"And  I  tell  you  I  will  not  listen  to  you!" 

"Well,  then,  there's  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  to  go 
away." 

"Go  and  tell  one  of  the  men,"  Barstowe  said. 

But  Sunny  walked  away  as  though  she  did  not  hear. 

Barstowe  looked  about  him.  The  stack  was  far  too 
high  for  him  to  slide  down,  or  jump  from;  it  would  mean 
a  broken  limb,  perhaps  a  broken  neck.  He  called  to 
Sunny,  but  she  did  not  take  any  notice. 

"Drat  the  confounded  girl!"  he  said. 

"Hi,  hi,  Walter!  hi,  Walter!  hi,  Walter!  George- 
one  of  you!  Hi,  Sam,  Sam  Kitchens,  you — hi,  hi!" 

Sunny  sat  down  under  a  hedge  at  the  end  of  the  field 
and  watched  him. 

"Go  on;  shout!"  she  said  to  herself.  "Yell,  go  it, 
shout  again,  now  then,  again!" 

"Hi,  hi,  hi!"  Barstowe  yelled.  "You,  Sam,  one  of 
you — are  you  all  deaf  ?  Confound  that  girl ! " 

For  half  an  hour  he  kept  it  up,  till  he  grew  hoarse  and 
hot.     Sunny  sat  and  watched  him  from  the  distance, 
then  she  rose  and  walked  back  slowly  to  the  stack. 
About  that  sketch?"  she  asked. 

"Hang  the  sketch!"  he  said.     "I  won't  listen!" 

"It's  getting  to  be  near  seven,"  she  said;  "breakfast's 
at  half -past,  Mrs.  Barstowe  said." 

"I'll  see  the  sketch  and  you — "     He  shook  his  fist. 

"I  never  see  a  man  get  into  such  a  temper!"  Sunny 
said.  "Oh,  well,  if  you  wait,  I'll  begin!" 

"Stop!  "he  shouted. 


Mr.  Barstowe  Attends  a  Matinee  319 

"I'll  read  the  sketch  if  you  like,  and  you  can  sit 
here " 

"Hang  the  sketch!    I  won't  hear  a  word  of  it!" 

"All  right!" 

Sunny  walked  away.  In  vain  he  called  to  her  to 
come  back. 

What  a  ridiculous  position  for  a  man  of  his  standing 
—stuck  here  on  top  of  a  haystack. 

"Good  gracious!"  he  reflected.  It  was  just  possible 
he  might  have  to  stay  here  all  day.  Most  of  the  men 
would  be  out  in  the  fruit  plantation,  and  those  who 
were  not  would  be  driving  some  sheep  to  the  railway. 
Stop  here  all  day,  and  he  had  a  hundred  and  ten  things 
to  do  in  town!  He  had  an  appointment  of  the  greatest 
importance  at  half-past  ten.  He  had  meant  to  start 
for  London  at  half-past  eight  sharp.  What  was  the 
time  now?  He  took  out  his  watch. 

It  was  a  quarter-past  seven.  Of  Sunny  Ducrow  there 
was  no  sign.  He  shouted  again  and  again,  then  gave  it 
up  and  sat  down  on  the  stack.  He  looked  at  the  ground, 
half  made  up  his  mind  to  risk  it,  then  decided  he  would 
not. 

"Hi,  hi,  Sam!"  he  shouted.  "Hi,  Miss  Ducrow, 
Sunny  Ducrow — hi,  hi,  Sunny  Ducrow!" 

"Were  you  calling?"  Sunny  asked.  She  suddenly 
appeared  again. 

"Yes;  I  called  you!"  he  said  hotly. 

"Well,  here  I  am.  Got  time  to  hear  me  read  that 
sketch  now?"  she  asked. 

"No;  I  have  not.  Put  that  ladder  up  at  once,  or — 
or " 

"Or  what?" 

"Or  I'll " 

"Look  here!"  Sunny  put  her  hands  on  her  hips  and 
looked  up.  "Supposing  you  and  me  changed  places; 


320  Sunny  Ducrow 

supposing  I  was  boss  and  you  wanted  me  to  hear  a  sketch 
you'd  writ.  See?" 

"Well?" 

"And  I  was  stuck  on  top  of  a  haystack  and  there  wasn't 
anyone  about  to  help  me  down  but  you,  what'd  you  do  ? " 

"I'd  behave  like  a  rational  human  being,"  he  said, 
"and— and " 

"And  let  me  stop  up  there  till  I'd  read  the  sketch  or 
you'd  read  it  to  me?"  she  said. 

"Nothing  of  the  sort!" 

"I've  got  it  here,"  she  said.  "It'll  take  about  twenty 
minutes,  and  you  won't  be  more  than  ten  minutes  late 
for  breakfast.  Well?" 

"I  won't  hear  a  word!"  he  said  hotly. 

"All  right  then!"     She  turned  away. 

"Sunny  Ducrow,  come  here — back  here,  this  instant!" 
he  said. 

"Well?"     Sunny  turned. 

He  glared  down  at  her. 

"Read  that  infernal  sketch!"  he  said. 

"What  a  lot  of  time  you'd  'a'  saved  if  you'd  said  that 
first  pop  off!"  she  said.  "All  right,  you  sit  down. 
You're  in  the  gallery.  See?  This  is  the  stage.  I'll 
read  the  other  parts  and  act  my  own.  I'm  Gerda 
Nelstein,  the  heroine.  See?  Only  when  I  act  the  part 
properly,  I  shan't  have  red  hair!" 

He  nodded;  he  sat  down;  he  dug  his  heels  into  the 
hay  and  put  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  rested  his  chin 
on  his  clenched  hand. 

Sunny  stepped  back  so  that  she  stood  in  full  view. 

"It's  called  The  Betrayal,  and  it's  written  by  Sunny 
Ducrow  and  Bert  Jackson,"  she  said.  "I  wanted  to 
put  his  name  first,  because  he  thought  of  it  first,  but  he 
said,  'Ladies  first!'  so  there  you  are!  Now  it  starts 
like  this — Enter  Captain  Halliday." 


Mr.  Barstowe  Attends  a  Matinee  321 

Barstowe  made  no  sign ;  he  sat  with  his  chin  on  his  hands 
and  stared  down  at  her.  Sunny  let  herself  go.  She  read 
the  other  parts,  but  the  part  of  Isabel  she  was  perfect  in. 

Once  or  twice  Barstowe  opened  his  eyes  almost  in- 
credulously. This  girl — a  revue  girl  who  sang  pretty 
songs  with  pretty  scenic  effects — to  dare,  to  simply 
dare  tackle  such  a  part.  It  took  his  breath  away.  His 
breath  was  completely  taken  away  presently.  He 
leaned  forward;  he  almost  forgot  that  it  was  a  drop  of 
fourteen  feet  to  the  ground.  Once  he  actually  slipped, 
but  managed  to  save  himself. 

"Back  curtain  represents  a  wall  with  a  gate  set  in  it," 
Sunny  said.  "On  the  other  side  of  the  wall  there's  a 
firing  party.  Captain  Halliday  has  been  sentenced  as 
a  spy,  and  is  going  to  be  shot.  I  come  on — Isabel 
Raymond.  I  know  what's  going  to  happen.  I  suddenly 
find  out  I  love  him.  He's  innocent — I'm  guilty — and 
they  are  going  to  kill  him.  I  hammer  on  the  gate  with 
my  hands.  They  won't  listen  to  me.  There's  a  sound 
of  tramping  men  inside.  See?  I  hear  it!"  She 
looked  up.  "Now " 

Barstowe  breathed  heavily.  He  clutched  his  hamis 
tightly.  This  girl — why,  it  was  sheer  folly — how  dared 
she  attempt  such  a  part?  He  looked  down  at  her;  he 
saw  nothing  incongruous.  It  was  a  small  red-haired 
girl  in  a  field ;  she  was  hammering  on  an  imaginary  gate. 
It  should  have  been  laughable,  but  it  was  not.  It  was 
real;  her  face  was  real;  the  cries — broken,  incoherent 
cries — that  came  from  her  lips  were  real. 

She  paused. 

"There's  a  voice  from  the  other  side  of  the  wall, 
'  Present  arms ! '  You  see  ? " 

"Yes,"  he  whispered. 

Again  she  shrieked,  again  she  hammered  on  the  im- 
aginary door. 


322  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Fire!"  she  said.  "It's  the  voice  on  the  other  side. 
There's  a  report — you  know  what  it  means — "  She 
paused  a  moment.  She  put  her  hands  to  her  head; 
she  swung  round;  she  lifted  her  face.  And  Barstowe, 
in  sheer  amazement,  looked  down  at  her.  Her  face  was 
grotesque,  distorted,  almost  horrible — surely  it  was  not 
her  face!  From  her  open  mouth  came  a  cry — a  hoarse, 
rattling  cry,  like  nothing  he  had  ever  heard  before. 
Then  she  fell — fell  heavily — and  lay  still. 

"Good  heavens!"  Barstowe  uttered. 

Sunny  Ducrow  got  up.  She  was  panting  a  little, 
and  she  smiled  up  at  him. 

"Now,  I'll  put  the  ladder  for  you,"  she  said. 

She  did;  she  did  it  alone  and  without  trouble,  and 
Barstowe  descended. 

"One  moment,  young  woman,"  he  said.  "Why  did 
you  not  attempt  to  make  any  bargain  with  me  before 
you  put  the  ladder  for  me?" 

Sunny  looked  at  him.  "Because  there  wasn't  any 
bargain  to  make,"  she  said.  "I  wanted  you  to  hear 
the  sketch.  You  heard  it,  and  that's  all  there  is  to 
it!  If  you  like  it,  you'll  say  you  do;  if  you  don't, 
you'll  say  you  don't,  and  I  know  you'll  be  right  either 
way!  You're  honest;  so  am  I!  That's  all  there  is  to 
it.  See?" 

"I  see!"  he  said  slowly.  He  held  out  his  hand  to 
her,  shook  hands  with  her  gravely,  and  walked  toward* 
the  house. 

"We'll  be  late  for  breakfast,"  he  said. 

"Not  very!"  Sunny  said. 

During  breakfast,  and  during  the  long  ride  to  town, 
Barstowe  never  once  referred  to  the  sketch.  He  talked 
about  jam  and  crops,  and  his  idea  of  wood-ash  as  a  fer- 
tilizer. He  was  giving  Sunny  a  learned  dissertation  on 
the  use  of  various  phosphates  for  the  production  of 


Mr.  Barstowe  Attends  a  Matinee  323 

certain  crops  when  the  car  rolled  up  before  the  stage-door 
at  the  Realm. 

He  got  out.    "Where  do  you  want  to  go?"  he  asked. 

"Home!"  Sunny  said.  "There's  nothing  doing  here 
for  me  for  a  bit!" 

"All  right,"  he  told  the  chauffeur.  "We'll  go  into 
that  factory  business  again  very  soon.  Meanwhile, 
get  your  options,  Miss  Ducrow." 

"That's  what  I'm  going  to  do,"  Sunny  said.  "So- 
long!" 

Barstowe  nodded. 

Sunny  reached  the  Realm  rather  earlier  than  usual 
that  night,  and  found  in  her  dressing-room  a  note  from 
Curtiss. 

"Kindly  come  to  my  office  the  moment  you  arrive." 
Signed  "A.  C." 

"Might  have  put  'Dear  Sunny,'  or  made  it  more 
friendly!"  she  muttered.  "However " 

She  went. 

Curtiss  stared  at  her  as  she  came  in. 

"Well,  old  dear,  what's  the  trouble?"  she  asked. 

"I  didn't  say  there  was  any  trouble.  Kindly  glance 
through  this,  and  if  it  meets  with  your  approval,  sign  it," 
he  said  stiffly.  He  pushed  a  form  of  agreement  towards 
her. 

Sunny  took  it. 

"An  agreement  entered  into  this  day  between  Bar- 
stowe's  Realms  Limited  of  the  one  part  and  Miss  Sunny 
Ducrow  of  the  other  part.  By  which  Barstowe's  Realms 
Limited  undertake  to  accept  the  sketch  written  by  Miss 
Ducrow  in  co-operation  with  Mr.  Bert  Jackson  and 
known  as  The  Betrayal,  and  agree  to  stage  same  within 
six  months  of  this  date." 

There  was  a  great  deal  more  of  it,  and  Sunny  read  it 
through.  Briefly  it  amounted  to  this.  The  agreement 


324  Sunny  Ducrow 

provided  that  Barstowe's  Realms  accepted  and  agreed 
to  stage  the  sketch,  finding  all  necessary  scenery  and 
dresses.  They  offered  payment  at  the  rate  of  thirty 
pounds  a  week  to  Sunny  to  take  the  leading  part,  pay- 
ment at  the  same  rate  to  an  actor  of  their  own  selection 
to  take  the  part  of  the  hero,  and  fifty  pounds  a  week  to 
be  divided  among  the  rest  of  the  company.  The  sketch 
was  to  be  produced  in  London  at  the  Realm,  and,  if 
successful,  was  to  go  on  tour  at  the  Barstowe  Circuit. 

"Well?"  Curtiss  asked. 

"It  seems  all  right,"  Sunny  said.  "I'll  sign — you'll 
be  witness?" 

He  nodded. 

It  was  done.    Sunny  had  signed,  and  he  had  witnessed. 

"And  now,  you  little  demon,  tell  me  how  you  managed 
it!"  he  demanded. 

"Oh,  it  was  all  right!"  Sunny  said.  "Easy  as,  easy 
as ' ' — she  paused — ' '  falling  off  a  haystack ! ' '  She  laughed. 
"So-long!"  She  nodded  to  him  and  went  out. 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

MR.   JOHNSON  GROWS   NERVOUS 

"HPHAT'S  what  I  want,"  Sunny  said.     "Six  hundred 

1      pounds,  old  dear!" 

' '  Six  hundred  pounds ! ' '  Mr.  Johnson  looked  startled. 
"What  on  earth " 

"To  pay  for  the  land  I've  bought!"  Sunny  said. 
"Oh,  it's  all  right.  I  never  see  anyone  get  so  scared  as 
you  do.  Now  prop  yourself  up  against  the  wall  and 
have  a  drink  of  water  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

Mr.  Johnson  sat  down. 

"Go  on!"  he  said  in  a  hollow  voice. 

"It's  like  this.  I've  seen  Beardwell — that's  the  chap 
as  owns  the  six  acres  at  Havers.  Beardwell's  all  right; 
he's  young  and  rather  nice  to  talk  to.  Anyway,  he's 
crazy  to  get  to  Canada,  and  when  I  got  talking  about 
the  six  acres,  he  just  jumped  at  the  idea  of  selling  out. 
I  offered  six  hundred,  and  he  took  it.  I've  got  the  agree- 
ment signed  and  all,  and  there  you  are!  Now,  I've 
got  to  get  the  money." 

"But  what  on  earth  shall  we  do  with  the  six  acres 
when  we  get  it?"  Johnson  asked. 

"It's  the  start — the  commencement;  after  I've  got 
that  six  I'm  going  to  get  those  thirty." 

"You  won't!"  he  said.  "They  belong  to  Colport, 
and  he's  as  keen  as  mustard.  You  won't  buy  those 
thirty  under  two-fifty  an  acre,  Sunny.  I've  made  in- 
quiries, and  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about!" 

325 


326  Sunny  Ducrow 

"You  think  you  do!"  Sunny  said. 

"I  do!"  he  said  hotly.  "I  went  into  that  scheme  of 
yours  closely.  If  it  had  been  workable  it  would  have 
been  all  right,  but  we  can't  afford  to  buy  land  at  two- 
fifty  an  acre." 

"We  aren't  going  to!"  Sunny  said.  "I've  bought 
six  at  a  hundred.  I'm  going  to  get  those  other  thirty 
at  about  seventy — perhaps  a  bit  less." 

"In  your  mind!"  Johnson  said. 

"  In  reality !  Now,  about  the  money  to  pay  for  those  six ! " 

"You'll  ruin  the  firm,"  he  said,  "just  as  we  are  getting 
our  heads  above  water.  I  tell  you,  you'll  ruin  the  firm, 
Sunny!" 

"And  I  tell  you  I'm  going  to  make  it!  I'm  going  to 
make  you  a  rich  man,  even  though  I  do  scare  you  out  of 
your  life  while  I'm  doing  it.  Now,  see  here."  Sunny 
sat  on  the  table  in  the  office  in  Cut  way  Street.  She 
swung  her  legs.  "You've  got  your  books.  You  can 
tell  me  roughly  what  I  want  to  know." 

"Well?" 

"Take  June,  July,  and  August  last  year.     See?" 

He  nodded. 

"What  was  the  profit  for  those  three  months?" 

"  I  can  tell  you,"  he  said,  "without  looking  it  up.  The 
profits  were  practically  nil.  We  just  kept  going  and 
paid  our  way.  There  was  nothing  left  over." 

"That's  all  right!"  Sunny  said.  "Now,  take  the 
last  three  months — the  three  months  I've  been  your 
partner.  What's  the  profits  for  them?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  offhand.  Of  course,  there's  the 
advertising." 

"My  doing!"  Sunny  said.  "Do  you  remember  how 
scared  you  got  when  I  talked  about  advertising  big — 
how  you  groaned  and  said  I  should  ruin  you — we  should 
all  be  in  the  gutter  together?" 


Mr.  Johnson  Grows  Nervous     327 

"Well,  I  was  wrong,"  he  said  shortly.  "You  were 
right." 

"I'm  right  all  along  the  line,"  Sunny  said.  "Now, 
about  the  profits  for  the  last  three  months.  Come  on! 
Out  with  it!" 

"I  can't  give  you  the  exact  figures,  but  I  can  get  a 
rough  idea,"  Johnson  said.  He  turned  to  the  ledgers 
and  went  through  them.  He  made  notes.  He  was 
busy  for  about  half  an  hour;  then  he  paused. 

"Well?"  Sunny  asked. 

"As  I  said,  the  figures  are  not  exact,  but  they  are  near 
enough — roughly,  nineteen  hundred  and  fifty  pounds." 

"In  three  months?"  Sunny  said.     "Not  so  dusty!" 

"It  is  practically  marvellous,"  he  said. 

"I  suppose  you'd  have  a  fit,"  Sunny  said,  "if  I  told 
you,  that,  two  years  ahead  we  might  be  making  nineteen 
thousand  pounds'  profit  in  a  year — maybe  more." 

"Rubbish!"  he  said. 

"Well,  that's  what  you  think.  Now,  I'm  your  partner, 
ain't  I?" 

"Yes;  of  course." 

"Your  half-partner,"  Sunny  said.  "Of  those  profits, 
half  belongs  to  me.  What's  half  of  nineteen  hundred 
and  fifty?" 

"Nine  hundred  and  seventy-five,"  Johnson  said. 

"Which  belongs  to  me.  I'll  trouble  you  for  a  cheque 
for  that,"  Sunny  said. 

"But,  good  gracious " 

"I  want  it,"  Sunny  said,  "and  I've  got  to  have  it." 

"But  it  is  not  money  actually  in  hand;  there  is  a  good 
deal  to  come  in  on  the  books.  Besides,  you're  going  to 
throw  it  away  on  this  wild-cat  scheme  of  yours.  I  ought 
to  prevent  it." 

"You  can't,"  Sunny  said.  "How  much  can  you  let 
me  have  ready?" 


328  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Not  a  penny  more  than  five  hundred,"  he  said. 

"Give  it  us,"  Sunny  said. 

Ten  minutes  later  she  went  out  with  a  cheque  for  five 
hundred  pounds.  She  took  a  cab  and  went  to  her  own 
bank  and  paid  it  in;  then  she  took  a  taxi  to  Havers  and 
motored  all  the  way — a  piece  of  extravagance,  but  Sunny 
was  in  a  hurry. 

Sunny  knew  the  place  well  enough ;  it  was  not  her 
first  visit  by  many.  For  a  time  she  walked  about  and 
looked  around  her.  The  six  acres  that  she  had  practi- 
cally bought  faced  the  main  road.  It  was,  however, 
cut  off  from  the  railway  line  at  the  back  by  the  adjoining 
property,  which  was  L-shaped  and  enclosed  her  six  acres 
on  two  sides. 

"If  I  get  those  thirty,"  Sunny  thought,  "there  won't 
be  a  site  in  or  near  London  to  touch  it.  The  main 
factory  will  be  just  here.  We'll  run  a  line  to  the  railway 
and  have  a  siding  of  our  own.  Yes,  that's  all  right;  it's 
just  what  I  want  to  know." 

A  little  later  Sunny  was  knocking  on  the  door  of  a 
small  house  in  Havers.  A  young  man  opened  the  door 
to  her.  "Hello!  Good-morning,  Miss  Ducrow!"  he 
said. 

"I've  come  about  that  land,"  Sunny  said. 

He  nodded.  His  eyes  brightened.  "You'll  be  able 
to  take  it,  you  think?" 

"I  know,"  she  said.     "I've  come  to  settle." 

"But  we  ought  to  have  a  lawyer." 

"  Bother  lawyers,"  she  said.     "  Money's  good  enough." 

"But  the  title?" 

"That's  all  right.  I've  been  into  it  already.  Six 
hundred  is  the  price.  Well,  I  can't  pay  you  down  for 
it.  I  can  give  you  three  hundred  down  and  a  note  for 
three  hundred  at  three  months,  and  there'll  be  an  agree- 
ment that  if  I  fail  to  pay  up  the  three  hundred  in  three 


Mr.  Johnson  Grows  Nervous     329 

months  I  forfeit  the  three  hundred  I'm  paying  you  now. 
See?" 

"It  sounds  straight,"  he  said. 

"That's  what  it  is— straight,"  she  said.  "The  land's 
marked  off  and  there's  no  mistake  about  the  boundary 
lines,  is  there?" 

"None  at  all.  I've  been  trying  to  sell  for  two  years. 
Colport,  who  owns  the  land  about  it,  was  after  it  for  a 
time." 

"Was  he?"  Sunny  said  interestedly.  "What  was  his 
game?" 

"Plots  for  villa  residences,  I  think,"  Beardwell  said. 
"Anyhow,  the  price  he  offered  for  the  land  was  no  good. 
I  couldn't  take  it. " 

"How  much?"  Sunny  asked. 

He  hesitated. 

"It  don't  make  any  difference;  I'm  buying  those  six 
acres  anyhow.  Only,  I'd  like  to  know  what  he  offered 
for  them." 

"Forty  pounds  an  acre,"  Beardwell  said. 

"Did  he?"  Sunny  said.    She  smiled. 

"Now,  I'll  bother  you  for  a  pen  and  ink,  and  I'll 
write  you  a  cheque  for  that  three  hundred,"  she  said. 

In  half  an  hour  her  business  was  complete;  she  had 
given  the  cheque  and  taken  a  receipt.  The  land  was 
hers,  subject  to  her  paying  a  further  three  hundred  in 
three  months. 

"Which  I'll  do  all  right,"  Sunny  thought. 

"Know  a  good  man  who  can  do  notice  boards?" 
Sunny  asked. 

"Notice  boards,  you  mean " 

"Like  that  board  on  the  ground — 'This  site  to  let, 
suitable  for  factory  or  villa  residences'  sort  of  thing." 

"Oh  yes;  there's  Collings  down  in  the  village.  He's 
a  good  man." 


33°  Sunny  Ducrow 

Sunny  shook  hands  with  Beardwell  and  hurried  away. 
A  few  minutes  later  she  was  interviewing  Mr.  Ceilings. 

"Want  it  done  quick.  I'll  pay  half  as  much  again  if 
it's  up  this  time  to-morrow,  "  Sunny  said. 

"I'll  do  it,  miss,"  Collings  said. 

"  It's  got  to  be  big — a  whacking  great  big  board,  black 
with  white  letters,  and  this  is  the  wording  for  it,"  Sunny 
said. 

She  spread  out  a  sheet  of  paper.  "The  spelling 
mayn't  be  all  right,  but  you  can  put  it  right  on  the 
board,"  she  said.  "There  it  is — 'Sight  for  the  Havers 
Chemical  Maneur  Works.'  Got  it?"  Sunny  asked. 

Collings  nodded  his  head. 

"I  see,  miss,"  he  said.  "You  mean  Site  for  the 
Havers  Chemical  Manure  Works." 

"That's  it,"  Sunny  said.  "Remember — a  whacking 
big  board  and  big  white  letters.  Stick  Manure  Works 
in  the  biggest  letters  you  can  manage.  See?" 

"The  board'll  be  three  pounds  ten,  miss,"  Collings 
said. 

"I'll  give  you  five  and  pay  you  now  if  the  board's  up 
by  to-morrow  morning,"  Sunny  said. 

"It'll  be  all  right,"  he  said. 

Sunny  taxied  back  to  town.  There  was  a  smile  on 
her  face;  she  felt  satisfied;  so  far,  so  good. 

"Betcher,"  Sunny  murmured,  "that  I'll  have  the 
option  on  old  Colport's  bit  of  ground  at  fifty  pounds  an 
acre  before  this  time  to-morrow." 

There  was  news  for  Sunny  at  the  Realm  to-night. 

Alfred  Curtiss  sent  for  her.  "Sunny,  you  can  keep  a 
secret?"  he  said. 

"Trust  me,"  Sunny  said. 

"I  do;  I  wouldn't  tell  anyone  else.  But  I've  been 
talking  to  Barstowe  to-day.  This  revue  is  to  come  off 
in  three  weeks;  he  wants  it  kept  dark." 


Mr.  Johnson  Grows  Nervous     33 i 

"And  then?"  Sunny  said. 

"Then  we're  going  to  run  the  usual  variety  show,  with 
a  big  ballet  and  your  sketch.  What  do  you  think  of 
that?" 

Sunny  snapped  her  fingers  and  executed  a  few  steps. 

"I  thought  you'd  be  pleased,"  he  said,  "but,  all  the 
same,  I  tell  you  I  believe  you  are  going  to  make  a  big 
failure,  Sunny  Ducrow." 

"You  can  believe  what  you  like,"  Sunny  said.  "I'm 
not  going  to  make  any  failure.  What  about  the  cast?" 

"  I'm  in  communication  with  Harvey  Deverell  to  take 
leading  man." 

Sunny  nodded;  her  eyes  shone.  "He'll  do  fine," 
she  said.  ' '  And  the  rest  ? " 

"Oh,  the  rest — well,  they  don't  count  much.  Who 
do  you  suggest?" 

"Eve  Clifforde  can  do  Violet  Berand  all  right,"  Sunny 
said. 

' '  I  dare  say.   I'll  book  her  if  you  like,  and  if  she  wants. " 

"  I'll  answer  for  her.    Book  her  at —  "   Sunny  paused. 

"A  fiver,"  Curtiss  said. 

"Make  it  seven  ten,"  Sunny  said. 

"It's  a  lot." 

"Well,  say  seven,"  Sunny  said.  "Tell  you  what — 
say  ten  and  knock  me  off  three." 

"Silly  little  donkey,  do  you  think  she  would  do  as 
much  for  you?" 

"I  betcher  she  would,"  Sunny  said.  "Book  Eve  at 
ten  and  knock  me  down  to  twenty-seven,  and  then  there's 
Bert — he's  all  right  for  the  comedy  part." 

"Jackson,  you  mean?" 

Sunny  nodded. 

"Hang  by  your  friends,  don't  you,  Sunny?"  Curtiss 
asked. 

"Well,  who,  to  goodness,  should  I  hang  by '."Sunny 


332  Sunny  Ducrow 

exclaimed,  "Besides  that,  Bert's  part  author  and  you've 
got  to  pay  him — well,  I  never  thought  of  that,"  she  said. 
"Bert  ought  to  be  getting  something  out  of  the  sketch, 
didn't  he?" 

"We'll  book  Jackson  at  ten,  then,"Curtiss  said  quickly, 
"provided,  of  course,  he  is  capable.  That  leaves  two 
other  parts  to  fill." 

"Oh,  they  don't  count.  Fill  'em  yourself,"  Sunny 
said. 

"All  right!"  Curtiss  said.  "Ill  see  to  it.  You'd 
better  begin  to  study  up,  Sunny." 

"No  need;  I'm  perfect  already.  Didn't  I  partly 
write  it?" 

"All  right!"  Curtiss  said.  "And  now,  you'd  better 
hop  it,  my  girl,  or  you'll  have  the  stage  waiting." 

"Which  it's  never  done  for  me  yet,"  Sunny  said. 
"So-long."  She  threw  him  a  kiss  and  darted  out. 

Curtiss  stood  staring  at  the  door  which,  as  usual, 
Sunny  had  left  open  behind  her. 

"I  don't  know!"  he  said.  "I  don't  know!"  He 
sighed.  "Pah,  I'm  a  foolish  man.  She's  only  a  kid — 
a  jolly,  light-hearted,  happy  kid;  she  does  me  good. 
She's  so  different  from  the  rest.  She  thinks  of  others, 
never  of  herself;  the  rest  think  of  themselves  and  never 
of  others.  That's  just  the  difference  and — "  He  paused. 
He  lighted  a  cigarette  and  stood  smiling,  staring  down  at 
the  carpet. 

"Sunny  Ducrow!"  he  muttered.  "Sunny,  little 
Sunny!  Good  Lord!  I've  got  to  pull  myself  together. 
My  trouble  is  that  I  want  a  change.  Dry-rot  setting 
in  on  the  brain  or  something.  Well,  well!" 


CHAPTER  XLV 

A   LAND   DEAL 

MR.  COLPORT  was  an  extremely  unpleasant-looking 
man.  Moreover,  he  was  very  dirty.  He  had  a 
dirty  little  office  at  the  top  of  a  dirty  building  in  Upper 
Thames  Street,  and  his  business  was  in  some  way  con- 
nected with  metal,  of  which  he  had  a  good  many  rusty 
and  filthy  samples  lying  about  the  place. 

"  Miss  Ducrow,  and  who  the  dickens  is  Miss  Ducrow, 
and  what  the  deuce  does  she  want  with  me?"  he  de- 
manded of  the  white-faced  office  boy. 

"Young  lidy.  She  says  she's  gotter  see  you — im- 
portink  business,  sir, "  the  boy  said. 

"Important  business — a  young  lady,  pah!  Show  her 
in." 

Mr.  Colport  was  not  in  the  least  impressionable.  He 
glared  at  Sunny  and  refused  to  smile  in  answer  to  her 
smile.  Another  man  must  have  smiled;  Mr.  Colport 
simply  glared. 

"Well?  "he  said. 

"  How  are  you  ? "  Sunny  said  as  she  sat  down. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  am  any  the  better  or  any  the 
worse  for  your  visit,"  he  said.  "May  I  ask  why  you 
are  here?" 

"You  may,"  Sunny  said. 

"Well,  why  are  you  here?" 

"  Not  to  see  the  view — I'm  not, "  Sunny  said. 

333 


334  Sunny  Ducrow 

"  If  you  think  you  are  going  to  waste  my  time " 

"I'm  not;  my  time's  pretty  filled  up,  too.  I'm  here 
on  business." 

"What  business?" 

"About  that  ground  of  yours  at  Havers." 

"Oh!"  he  said.  "Ground — what  do  you  want  with 
ground?" 

"Lots  of  things,"  Sunny  said. 

"And  what  might  the  lots  of  things  be?"  he  asked. 

"Hens,  for  instance,"  Sunny  said.  "Poultry,  it 
might  be." 

"Pah,  poultry-farming's  played  out!  It's  no  good — 
done  for!  When  a  man,  woman,  or  child  finds  himself 
entirely  unfitted  to  earn  an  honest  living  in  a  sensible 
way,  he  starts  poultry-farming;  it's  the  last  refuge  for 
the  weak-minded  and  addle-headed." 

"Nothing  in  it,  then?"  Sunny  asked. 

"  Not  three-ha'pence  a  week, "  he  said.  "  You  take  it 
from  me." 

"Well,  I  don't  know;  I've  got  ideas.  That  bit  of 
land  of  yours  'ud  just  suit  me  for  what  I  want." 

"Got  any  money?"  he  asked. 

"No,  but  I've  got  plenty  of  friends." 

"And  they'll  buy  land  for  you  and  set  you  up  on  that 
mad-fool  scheme  ? ' ' 

"That's  their  business  and  mine!" 

"Well,  I'm  not  selling  my  land  at  Havers  for  poultry- 
farming,  "  he  said. 

"Then,  what  are  you  selling  it  for?" 

"Villa  residences.  I'm  going  to  map  it  out  in  plots, 
and  they'll  go  like  hot  cakes." 

"Then  you  won't  sell  the  land  altogether?" 

"Only  at  a  price.  My  price  is" — he  paused;  he 
looked  at  her —  "two  hundred  and  twenty  an  acre." 

"Two  hundred  and  twenty  the  lot, "  Sunny  said. 


A  Land  Deal  335 

"No;  an  acre,  and  there  are  thirty  acres.  You  can't 
pay  that  price  for  land  for  keeping  hens  on." 

"No;  I  s'pose  not,"  Sunny  said.  "Same  time,  you 
Mron't  never  sell  it  for  no  building  villas  on  either." 

"Why  not?" 

"Well,  one  thing,  they'd  never  stand  the  smell." 

"What  smell?" 

"Why,  the  smell  they're  bound  to  make, "  Sunny  said. 

"Who  are  bound  to  make?"  Colport  shouted. 

"Them  chemical  people — them  people  as  are  going  to 
make  manure  out  of  chemicals;  it's  bound  to  hum," 
Sunny  said.  "Drive  everyone  away  for  miles.  Me,  I 
once  lived  in  a  street  where  there  was  a  small  chemical 
manure  business — "  She  paused.  "I  know.  That's 
why  I  thought  you  might  be  glad  to  sell  the  ground 
pretty  cheap." 

"I  don't  know  what  the  deuce  you  are  talking  about! 
What  chemical  manure  have  you  in  your  head?" 

"None,"  Sunny  said.  "But  your  villa  residence 
people'll  get  it  in  their  noses  all  right,  and  they'll 
leave  quick,  you  see." 

"If  you  would  be  so  good  as  to  explain,"  he  said, 
with  ponderous  politeness.  "In  the  first  place,  I  can 
assure  you  that  there  is  no  chemical  manure  factory 
within  miles  of  Havers." 

"Not  yet,  but  there's  going  to  be,"  Sunny  said. 
"That's  why  I  came.  When  I  saw  the  board  up  I  said, 
*B  etcher  the  land  will  be  sold  cheap  now.  It  looks  like 
just  the  place  to  run  a  hen  or  two  on.'  So  I  found  out 
where  you  was  and  came." 

Colport  stared  at  her.     "What  board?"  he  shouted. 

"The  board  that's  up  on  the  other  ground — the  small 
bit  of  ground." 

"I  know  of  no  board." 

"Well,  you  may  have  good  eyesight,  but  you  can't 


336  Sunny  Ducrow 

see  it  from  here,"  Sunny  said.  "There's  a  board  all 
right,  and  it  says,  'Site  for  the  Havers  Chemical  Manure 
Works, '  and  when  I  saw  it  I  came  along  to  see  if  the 
other  ground  was  to  be  got  cheap." 

"What — what  do  you  call  cheap?" 

"About  thirty  pounds  an  acre,"  she  said. 

"Thirty  fiddlesticks!" 

"Well,  forty,"  Sunny  said.  "That's  about  all  it's 
worth.  I've  asked  and  I  was  told  someone  offered  forty 
for  it  and  said  it  wasn't  worth  no  more." 

"About  that  board, "  he  said.     "I  don't  believe  it." 

"Well,  go  and  have  a  look  for  yourself  and  you'll 
find  out  I  don't  come  here  to  tell  you  lies, "  Sunny  said. 

"  I'll  go  now  at  once.  I  don't  believe  it,  and  I — I  shall 
object!" 

"You  won't  object  half  as  much  as  them  villa  residents 
as  won't  be  there  will, "  Sunny  said.  "Anyway,  I  don't 
mind  a  bit  of  a  smell,  come  to  that,  and  it  won't  do  any 
harm  to  the  poultry,  or  whatever  it  may  be.  Mind  you, 
I  don't  say  it  is  poultry  I'm  after,  but  it  may  be." 

"I  don't  care  what  you  are  after, "  he  said;  " I'm  going 
to  see  for  myself!" 

"I'll  come  with  you  if  you  like.  I've  got  the  loan 
of  a  car;  it's  Lord  Dobrington's,  he's  a  friend  of  mine, 
and  it's  a  nice  car;  it'll  get  there  quickly." 

"All  right,"  Colport  said.  "But  mind  you,  I  don't 
believe  it!" 

Mr.  Colport  was  not  a  pleasant  companion.  He 
sniffed;  he  refused  to  speak;  he  let  Sunny's  chatter  pass 
unnoticed.  He  sat  and  glowered  and  mumbled  to  him- 
self in  his  shaggy  red  beard. 

"There  it  is;  what  did  I  tell  you?  Spell  it  out!" 
Sunny  said.  " '  Site  for  the  Havers ' " 

"What  in  thunder  does  this  mean?"  Colport  raged. 
"What  the " 


A  Land  Deal  337 

The  board  was  up,  the  paint  wet,  but  the  board  was 
there  and  Colport  knew  nothing  about  the  condition  of 
the  paint.  He  got  out  of  the  car  and  raged  up  and  down. 

"It'll  ruin  the  place,  spoil  the  property!"  he  shouted. 

"Except  for  hens  and  such-like, "  Sunny  said. 

"I'll  see  that  villain  Beardwell!" 

"I  would!"  Sunny  said.  She  had  already  seen 
Beardwell  this  morning. 

A  few  minutes  later  Colport  was  thundering  on 
Beardwell's  modest  door. 

"What  in  thunder  is  the  meaning  of  this  ? "  he  shouted. 

"I  don't  know;  do  you?"  Beardwell  said.  He  looked 
beyond  the  furious  Colport  at  Sunny.  For  any  expres- 
sion of  recognition  on  his  face  he  might  never  have  seen 
Sunny  in  his  life  before. 

"That  board  on  your  land,  what  does  it  mean?" 

"I've  got  no  board  on  my  land!" 

"It's  a  lie!  I've  seen  it.  I  saw  it  myself.  What's 
this  infernal  Chemical  Factory  ? " 

"Oh  that ! "  Beardwell  said.  " My  land?  It  isn't  my 
land!  It's  sold.  Yes,  there  is  to  be  a  chemical  factory 
or  something !  I  hear  it  is  going  to  smell  pretty  bad,  but 
that  won't  affect  me.  I'm  shifting  to  Canada  in  about 
a  month,  and  it'll  be  a  bad  smell  that'll  reach  me  out 
there!" 

"You've  sold  your  land  to — to  those  brigands  who  are 
going  to — to  put  up  a  stink  factory!"  Colport  shouted. 

"It's  my  land,  or  was.  I  had  the  right  to  sell  it.  I 
offered  it  to  you  at  eighty ;  you  said  forty  was  a  fair  price. 
I  got  a  hundred  for  it,  and  I'm  satisfied  there  were  no 
restrictions.  They  can  put  up  a  dust  destructor,  too,  and 
a  fever  hospital  if  they  like,  it's  all  one  to  me." 

"It's  ruined  my  land!"  Colport  shouted. 

"That's  your  trouble.  I'm  busy;  good-morning!" 
Beardwell  shut  the  door. 


338  Sunny  Ducrow 

"I  thought  hens — "    Sunny  began. 

"Hang  hens,  curse  hens,  to  blazes  with  hens!"  said 
Colport.  "It's  my  land!" 

"I'll  buy  it;  give  me  an  option  at  a  fair  price.  I  don't 
mind  any  smells  that  might  happen  along!"  Sunny 
said. 

Colport  muttered  in  his  beard;  they  drove  back  to 
town  in  silence. 

"About  that  option?"  Sunny  said.  "Is  it  worth 
while  me  coming  to  your  office  or  not?" 

"What  do  you  want  that  land  for?"  he  demanded. 

"I  told  you  it  might  be  for  hens  and  it  might  not  I 
What's  the  land  worth?"  Sunny  said. 

"It's  worth  every  penny" — he  paused — "of  eighty 
pounds,  but  how  am  I  going  to  sell  now  with  that 
infernal " 

"Eighty  pounds  is  a  fair  price,  is  it?"  Sunny  asked. 

"I  gave  seventy  for  it,  and  bought  it  cheap, "  he  said. 
"I  expected  to  make  good  profit  on  it  as  plots." 

"But  you  didn't  know  this  had  come  along!" 

Colport  muttered  a  few  remarks  to  himself. 

"Are  you  going  to  give  me  a  month's  option  to  buy 
that  land?"  Sunny  asked. 

He  did  not  answer. 

"If  you  aren't  it's  no  good  me  coming  any  farther!'* 
Sunny  said. 

"What'll  you  offer?"  he  asked. 

"I  heard  forty  was  a  fair  price." 

He  snarled.  "I  tell  you  I  gave  seventy  and  bought 
it  cheaply." 

"I'll  take  an  option  on  it  for  two  months  at  eighty 
pounds  an  acre,"  Sunny  said.  "And  I'll  give  you  a 
deposit  of  a  hundred  pounds,  which  I  am  to  forfeit  if  I 
don't  close  on  the  option;  how's  that?" 

He  hesitated. 


A  Land  Deal  339 

"Yes  or  no!"  Sunny  said.  "Because  if  it's  no,  I've 
got  heaps  to  do  with  my  time!" 

He  glared  at  her.  "Eighty  then!"  he  said.  "Very 
well,  and  a  hundred  pounds'  deposit." 

"That's  what  I  said, "  Sunny  said. 

' '  It's  just  a  fair  price, ' '  Sunny  thought.  ' '  I  could  have 
got  it  for  forty,  or  fifty  if  I  had  stood  out,  only  it  would 
have  been  tricky.  He  makes  ten  pounds  an  acre,  so  he 
doesn't  lose  anything,  and  we  get  the  ground  at  a  fair 
price.  It'll  be  worth  a  lot  more  presently."  She  smiled. 
"Well,  that's  all  over  and  done  with!" 

Sunny  drove  Mr.  Colport  back  to  Upper  Thames 
Street,  then  she  thanked  Lord  Dobrington's  chauffeur 
kindly  for  his  services,  and  shook  hands  warmly  with 
him,  and  dismissed  the  car.  "Now  I'd  best  be  getting 
to  work,"  Sunny  thought. 

"  Hello! "  she  said.  "  Look  where  you  are  coming  to, 
clumsy!" 

It  was  Lord  Dobrington  who  had  blundered  into  her 
at  the  corner  by  the  Realm. 

"Why,  Sunny,  you?"  he  said. 

"Sunny  me!"  she  said.  And  you  nearly  trod  on  my 
foot,  didn't  you  ought  to  apologize?" 

"I  do  from  my  heart."     He  smiled  down  at  her. 

"  I've  been  wanting  to  see  you  badly, "  he  said. 

"Well,  look  now,"  Sunny  said. 

"  I'm  going  to.     Are  you  in  a  hurry  ? " 

"Nothing  pertickler, "  Sunny  said. 

"Sunny,  why  do  you  talk  like  that?" 

"Like  what?" 

"Per-tickler!"  he  said.  "You  can  speak  as  well  as  I 
can  if  you  like." 

Sunny  laughed.  "I  like  to  talk  like  I  used  when  I'm 
talking  to  friends ;  when  I'm  not,  I  put  on  the  talk.  See  ? 
However,  that  doesn't  matter.  I'll  give  you  the  other 


34°  Sunny  Ducrow 

kind  of  talk  if  it  worries  you.  No,  Lord  Dobrington,  1 
am  in  no  great  hurry.  I  was  about  to  call  in  at  the 
theatre  and  find  out  if  there  were  any  letters  there 
awaiting  my  arrival."  She  laughed.  "How's  that?" 

He  nodded.  "You  are  funny,  Sunny,"  he  said.  "I 
want  you  to  come  to  tea  with  me." 

"Where?    The  A.  B.  C.,  or " 

"Blessendale  House!"  he  said  briefly. 

"But  your  mar " 

"Wants  to  talk  to  you,  Sunny,"  he  said.  "So  do  I! 
I  wonder  if  you  realize,  Sunny,  just  how  much  you  have 
done  for  me?" 

' '  Nothing ! ' '  she  said.  ' '  What  I  did  I  did  because  your 
mother  was  worried  out  of  her  life,  and  because  I  liked 
you  and  hated  to  see  you  going — "  She  paused. 

"Going  wrong?"  he  said. 

"Yes,  if  you  like!" 

"Well,  I  was,  and  you  saved  me.  I  didn't  think  I 
could  be  saved ;  it  was  a  kind  of  lunacy ;  it  passed  and  then 
I  felt  ashamed,  and  being  ashamed,  I  did  what  another 
weak-minded  young  fool  might  have  done,  I  tried  to 
forget  my  sense  of  shame  and " 

"Drank  something  dreadful!"  Sunny  said.  "You 
ought  to  have  more  backbone." 

"You  are  right !    Will  you  come,  Sunny ? " 

"To  Blessendale  House?    Well,  if  she " 

"Wants  to  see  you;  so  do  I.  We  want  to  talk  to  you, 
my  mother  and  I!" 

Sunny  nodded.  He  hailed  a  taxi,  and  a  little  later 
they  alighted  before  the  imposing  portals  of  Blessendale 
House. 

"Of  course,  I'm  not  dressed  for  calling  properly," 
Sunny  said.  "I've  got  my  old  things  on,  and  I'm  a  bit 
dirty,  but  it  can't  be  helped." 

"You  look  perfectly  splendid!"  he  said. 


A  Land  Deal  341 

"Same  to  you!"  she  said.  "You  look  different 
altogether!" 

They  went  in;  a  gorgeous  flunkey  opened  the  hall  door. 

"Her  ladyship  his  hin,  my  lord,"  he  said.  "Her 
ladyship  his  hentertaining." 

Perhaps  Dobrington  did  not  hear  the  latter  remark,  at 
any  rate  he  took  no  notice. 

"Come  in,  Sunny!"  he  said. 

Sunny  was  on  her  good  behavior,  the  marble  staircase 
always  affected  her. 

Dobrington  opened  a  door  and  stood  aside  for  her  to 
enter. 

"I've  brought  Sunny,  mother,"  he  said;  "and — " 
He  paused. 

His  mother  was  there,  so  too  were  others;  there  were 
several  ladies  taking  tea.  Dobrington  bowed;  he  shook 
hands  with  some  of  them. 

Lady  Blessendale  rose;  she  shot  a  quick  glance  at  her 
son,  but  her  face  was  wreathed  in  smiles  as  she  turned  to 
Sunny. 

"  My  dear, "  she  said,  "  I  am  very  pleased  to  see  you!" 
She  took  Sunny's  hand  and  drew  her  to  her  and  kissed 
her. 

"I  didn't  know  you  had  company,  or  I  wouldn't  have 
come,"  Sunny  said. 

"  Duchess,  this  is  Miss  Ducrow, "  her  ladyship  said. 

"Duchess?  my  hat!"  Sunny  thought.  She  saw  a 
wrinkled,  hard-featured  old  woman  glaring  at  her,  and 
she  dropped  a  curtsy. 

"And  how  does  Miss  Ducrow  do?"  the  Duchess  asked. 

"Very  well,  I  thank  you,"  Sunny  said.  "I  hope  to 
goodness  that's  right;  what  on  earth  do  you  call  her? 
Your  worship?  No,  that  isn't  it.  I'll  wait." 

Sunny  was  endowed  with  plenty  of  sense.  She  never 
rushed  in;  she  bided  her  time,  and  what  she  did  not  know 


342  Sunny  Ducrow 

she  waited  to  learn.  She  discovered  later  that  it  was 
correct  to  say  "Your  Grace."  There  were  two  other 
ladies  there  and  an  effeminate-looking  young  man,  who 
stared  hard  at  Sunny. 

It  was  beside  him  that  Sunny  presently  found  herself. 

"Haven't  I  seen  you  before,  Miss  Ducrow?" 

"I  dare  say,  if  you  looked  hard, "  Sunny  said;  she  had 
no  opinion  of  the  young  man.  The  ladies  a  little  over- 
awed her,  but  he  looked  just  what  he  was,  a  weakling 
and  a  degenerate. 

"I  mean  at  the  Realm.    Are  you  on  the  stage?" 

"When  I'm  there  I  am ! "  she  said. 

"I  thought  so;  how  deuced  interesting,  what?" 

"Don't  look  as  if  I'm  going  to  get  my  talk  with  her 
ladyship, "  Sunny  thought.  She  glanced  across  at  Dob- 
rington.  He  smiled  at  her,  then,  seeing  that  she  was 
sitting  next  to  Sir  Robert  Doveton,  he  scowled;  for  Sir 
Robert  had  a  bad  reputation,  he  was  not  the  type  of  man 
Dobrington  wished  to  see  Sunny  talking  to.  He  came 
over  to  her  and,  to  Doveton's  anger,  took  her  away. 

But  the  guests  were  disappearing  now,  it  was  only  an 
afternoon  call.  The  little,  old,  hard-faced  Duchess  rose 
and  shook  out  her  skirts. 

"  Ducrow, "  she  said.  "  You  spell  it  Ducros,  I  suppose. 
D-u-c-r-o-s,  eh,  French?" 

4 '  Crow  is  good  enough  for  me,  your  Grace ! ' '  Sunny  said. 

"Humph !  Ducrow,  very  odd  name,  very ;  don't  know 
it!  Where  do  you  come  from?" 

"Baggly  Street!"  Sunny  said.  "Least — at  least,  I 
mean,  we  lived  first  in  Baggly  Street,  now  we  live  in 
Bloomsbury.  One  day  I  hope  to  live  in  the  country 
when  I  can  earn  enough  money." 

"Earn,  then  you  earn?  How  do  you  earn  money, 
young  woman?" 

"On  the  stage!"  Sunny  said. 


A  Land  Deal  343 

"Bless  me!"  The  Duchess  looked  at  Sunny  keenly. 
Sunny's  brave  eyes  met  the  old  hard  ones  without 
flinching. 

' '  So  you  are  on  the  stage,  are  you  ?    It's  a  bad  life ! ' ' 

"It  isn't!"  Sunny  cried;  she  flushed  hotly.  "You 
know  nothing  about  it,  or  you  would  not  say  that!" 

"Young  woman,  do  you  know  who  I  am?" 

"I  don't  know  who  you  are,  my  Grace,  your  Grace," 
Sunny  said.  "But  I  know  who  you  aren't,  and  that  is 
a  judge  of  the  stage  and  those  who  have  to  earn  their 
living  by  it!" 

There  was  silence;  the  other  ladies  were  looking  at 
one  another  with  something  akin  to  horror  in  their  eyes. 

That  girl,  that  wretched  little  actress,  how  dared  she? 

"So  that's  what  you  think!"     Her  Grace  said. 

Sunny  shook  her  head.  "That's  what  I  know!"  she 
said.  "  I've  met  with  more  kindness  and  I've  made  more 
friends  since  I  went  on  to  the  stage  than  ever  in  my  life." 

"You  have  had,  of  course,  vast  experience." 

"  When  a  girl  is  like  I  am, "  Sunny  said,  "when  she  has 
to  earn  her  living  almost  as  soon  as  she  can  walk,  then  she 
gets  a  great  deal  more  experience  in  a  little  while  than  a 
girl  who  has  father  and  mother  to  protect  her  and  care 
for  her  and  look  after  her.  I  had  no  father  and  mother," 
her  voice  broke  for  a  moment,  "only  an  aunt,  and  I  had 
to  look  after  myself,  and — and  I've  done  it!"  She 
lifted  her  head  proudly. 

"Insolence!"  one  of  the  other  women  whispered 
audibly. 

The  Duchess  turned ;  she  looked  at  the  speaker.  "  You 
are  right,"  she  said.  "I  was  insolent  to  speak  to  the 
child  as  I  did.  I  am  corrected.  I  am  glad  that  you  have 
the  courage  of  your  convictions,  Lady  Hurstford!" 

Lady  Hurstford  flushed.  "I — I  did  not  mean  you, 
Duchess.  I  meant " 


344  Sunny  Ducrow 

But  her  Grace  turned  her  back  on  her;  she  turned  to 
Sunny  again. 

"And  your  name,  child?" 

"Sunny  Ducrow,  your  Grace." 

"Come  here,  Sunny  Ducrow." 

Sunny  advanced  fearlessly.  They  were  almost  of  a 
height;  if  anything  Sunny  was  a  shade  the  taller  of  the 
two. 

"  I  like  you,  I  like  your  honesty,  I  like  the  look  in  your 
eyes.  You  are  brave,  and  bravery  and  courage  is  as 
admirable  in  a  woman  as  in  a  man.  The  women  I  meet 
are  not  brave,  they  are  all  cowards,  all  without  exception 
miserable,  shaking  cowards.  I  like  you,  Sunny  Ducrow, 
and  I  wish  you  well,  and  if  I  can  help  you  at  any  time, 
come  to  me.  I'm  the  Duchess  of  Lulham." 

She  bent  forward  and  kissed  Sunny,  first  on  one  cheek, 
then  on  the  other.  She  nodded  and  smiled.  "Keep 
your  courage,  child, "  she  said.  "  Keep  it,  cling  to  it,  be 
brave,  it's  a  grand  virtue!" 

She  went,  the  others  followed.  Lady  Hurstford  held 
out  her  hand  to  Sunny  with  a  dazzling  smile. 

"So  very  pleased  to  have  met  you,  Miss  Ducrow!" 
she  said. 

"  Was  she? "  Sunny  thought.  "  I  don't  think !  I  like 
the  old  woman,  though!" 

"Thank  goodness  they  have  gone!"  Dobrington  said. 
"Mother,  may  I  ring  for  some  fresh  tea?" 

"Yes,  dear."     Lady  Blessendale  sat  down. 

"Sunny,"  she  said,  "we  have  been  talking  about  you 
a  great  deal  lately,  and  we  have  a  plan,  an  idea  that  we 
want  to  put  before  you,  Stanley  and  I!" 

"A  plan?"  Sunny  said. 

"Yes,  child,  a  plan !  We  are  very,  very  deeply  in  your 
debt,  Sunny,  and  Stanley  and  I  want  to  try  and  repay 
you  a  little  of  all  that  we  owe  to  you.  The  plan  I  am 


A  Land  Deal  345 

going  to  propose  will  mean  a  change  in  your  life,  a  great 
change,  it  will  practically  mean  the  beginning  of  a  new 
life  for  you." 

Sunny  did  not  speak.  "And  I  thought  I  was  getting 
on  very  well  in  the  old  life,"  she  thought. 

"And  now  I  will  tell  you, "  her  ladyship  said. 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

A    QUESTION   OF    EDUCATION 

UNNY, "  her  ladyship  said,  "I  have  been  thinking 
very  much  of  you  of  late,  thinking  of  you  with  a 
great  deal  of  affection  and  gratitude  and  admiration,  too, 
for  I  realize  that  you  are  a  very  clever  girl.  Now,  Stan- 
ley, my  son,  Lord  Dobrington,  and  I  have  been  talking 
about  you " 

"You  have?"  Sunny  said. 

"  Talking  of  you  and  your  future! " 

"My  future  seems  to  be  going  on  all  right,"  Sunny 
said.  "I've  nothing  to  grumble  at." 

"I  know,  child;  you  have  done  wonderfully,  but — but, 
Sunny,  I  think  you  are  fitted  for  some  better  position 
in  life  than  to  be  merely" — her  ladyship  paused — 
"merely  a  little  girl  in  a  revue,  a  little  girl  on  the  stage!" 

"I  know,"  Sunny  said.  "But  I'm  not  going  to  be 
that  always ! "  She  shook  her  head  till  her  curls  danced. 
"No  fear!  "she  said. 

"Hear  me  patiently  to  the  end,  dear  child, "  her  lady- 
ship said.  ' '  Sunny,  I  want  to  do  something  for  you,  dear, 
in  return  for  the  great  good  you  did  for  me  and  my  son. 
I  want  to  take  you  away  from  your  present  life." 

Sunny  opened  her  eyes  widely. 

"I  want  to  have  you  well  educated  and  fitted  for  a 
better  position  in  life.  I  would  send  you  to  a  good 
school" — her  ladyship  paused — "where  you  would  re- 
ceive a  high-class  education,  and  after  that  you  could 

346 


A  Question  of  Education        347 

be  taught  some  trade,  or  even  profession.  There  are 
many  professions  now  open  to  women.  I  believe  that, 
with  your  brains,  you  would  go  very  far,  Sunny." 

Dobrington  was  standing  with  his  back  to  them, 
staring  out  of  the  window.  Sunny  looked  at  him;  her 
eyes  wandered  from  his  back  to  his  mother's  face,  then 
back  to  Dobrington's  back  again. 

She  realized  that  she  had  to  say  something,  and  she  did 
not  know  what  to  say.  Leave  this  life,  this  life  that  she 
had  made  for  herself  and  which  she  revelled  in !  Leave 
Bert,  Evy,  her  aunt,  and  all  her  friends  on  the  stage  and 
off,  all  those  who  had  been  kind  to  her!  Curtiss,  Bar- 
stowe,  leave  them  all  and 

"Oh,  my — my  lady!"  she  said. 

"Perhaps,  dear,  you  would  like  a  little  time  to  think 
it  over,*'  her  ladyship  said.  "It  comes  as  a  new  and 
strange  idea  to  you,  doesn't  it?" 

"It  comes  very  strangely  to  me,"  Sunny  said.  She 
spoke  slowly  and  carefully,  remembering  all  old  Gibbins's 
teachings.  ' '  It  comes,  naturally,  as  a  very  great  surprise. 
I  do — do  appreciate  your  kindness  and  the  goodness  that 
prompted  you  to  make  me  such  an  offer." 

Her  ladyship  looked  at  Sunny  in  silent  surprise.  She 
had  no  idea  that  the  girl  could  express  herself  so  well. 

"I  know  exactly  what  your  feelings  are  about  this," 
Sunny  went  on.  "You  think  you  are  in  my  debt,  and 
you  generously  want  to  pay  me  all  that  you  owe  me. 
But  you  are  really  not  in  my  debt  at  all.  What  I  did  for 
— for  him,"  she  looked  at  Dobrington's  back  again,  "I 
would  have  willingly  done  for  any  friend.  I  know,  my 
lady,  that  your  son,  his  lordship,  belongs  to  a  very 
different  class  of  society  from  the  one  that  I  live  in.  I 
know  that,  yet  still  I  do  think  of  him  as  a  friend,  and  as 
a  friend  I  would  do  anything  to  help  him  and  you,  his 
mother." 


348  Sunny  Ducrow 

Her  ladyship  said  nothing.  She  was  frankly  astonished ; 
she  looked  at  the  girl  in  silent  amazement.  This  girl 
whom  she  had  regarded  as  unlettered,  uneducated,  a 
dumsy-tongued  little  creature  of  the  streets,  to  speak 
with  such  quiet  dignity,  to  speak  with  words  so  admirably 
chosen!  Truly  Sunny  Ducrow  was  a  never-ending 
surprise. 

"Oh,  my  lady!"  Sunny  cried.  "Don't — don't  think 
me  ungrateful.  I  am  not ;  if  you  could  only  see  right  into 
my  heart,  you  would  know  how  grateful  I  am  to  you  for 
your  kindness,  but — but — "  Her  voiee  faltered.  "I 
have  so  many  friends,  people  who  have  been  good  to  me, 
who  would  miss  me  and  whom  I  should  miss,  I — I  can't 
part  from  them !  I  am  happy  in  my  life,  I  am  succeeding 
even  better  than  I  hoped,  and — and  I  am  not  forgetting 
my  education,  my — my  lady!" 

"So  I  see,"  her  ladyship  said.  "So  I  see,  Sunny.  I 
am  surprised !  I  never  heard  you  speak  like  this ;  I  had 
no  idea  that  you  could!" 

Sunny  smiled.  "My  education,"  she  said,  "is  like 
having  money  put  away  in  the  bank.  I  don't  use  it 
unless  I  need  it ;  when  I  want  it,  I  just  draw  on  it.  Some- 
how, I  feel  I  can  go  through  life  all  right  just  as  plain 
Sunny  Ducrow.  I  don't  want  people  to  think  I'm 
giving  myself  airs,  or  trying  to  make  myself  out  better 
than  I  am.  I'm  just  Sunny  Ducrow,  my  lady;  but  I've 
got  the  education  there,  put  away  in  the  bank,  and  I  can 
trot  it  out  just  when  I  happen  to  want  it,  Latin  and  all 
the  rest  of  it." 

1 '  Latin ! ' '  her  ladyship  cried.  ' '  You — you  understand 
Latin?" 

"Not  very  much.  I'm  only  just  starting  with  Mr. 
Gibbins,  but  he  says  I'm  wonderfully  quick  to  pick  it  up. 
I  got  on  just  the  same  way  with  French  and  Italian.  I 
loved  to  learn  Italian.  Mr.  Gibbins  thought  that  one 


A  Question  of  Education        349 

day  I  might  be  glad  to  know  the  language;  it's  useful  on 
the  stage,  especially  if  one  sings.  So  I  learned  Italian 
and  French,  and  now  I'm  starting  Latin.  Mr.  Gibbins 
says  that  a  knowledge  of  Latin  and  Greek  helps  one 
wonderfully  when  trying  to  learn  other  languages." 

' '  Good — good  gracious ! ' '  her  ladyship  said.  ' '  Italian, 
French,  Latin,  and  Greek !  And — and  I  spoke  of  sending 
you  to  be  educated !  Sunny  Ducrow,  I  beg  your  pardon ! ' ' 
She  rose  and  held  out  her  hand.  "  I  do  beg  your  pardon, 
child.  I  thought  you  were  a  dear,  but  ignorant,  little 
savage.  I  had  no  idea — "  She  turned  to  Dobrington, 
who  was  still  staring  out  of  the  window. 

"Stanley,  why  did  you  never  tell  me  this? "  she  said. 

"How  could  I,  mother,  when  I  hadn't  the  faintest 
idea?"  he  cried.  "I  didn't  even  know  that  Sunny  was 
educating  herself  at  all!" 

"I'm  not!"  Sunny  said.  "Mr.  Gibbins  is!  I  have 
one  hour  a  day  with  him  certain,  wet  or  fine,  and  some- 
times, when  I've  got  the  time,  I  have  two  and  three  hours. 
I  learn  quickly,  just  because  I  want  to  learn,  and  I  love 
to  see  how  pleased  he  looks  when  I  get  on  quickly  and 
pick  up  what  he  tries  to  teach  me." 

"You  are  a  very  brave  and  a  very  clever  girl!"  her 
ladyship  said.  "I  have  nothing  more  to  say,  Sunny.  I 
was  wrong.  I  erred  in  ignorance.  I  little  knew  how  you 
spent  your  spare  time.  Forgive  me,  child;  it  would  be 
useless  to  send  you  to  school." 

Sunny  nodded.  "I  couldn't  go.  I  wouldn't  leave 
Gibbins  for  all  the  world!  Why,  it  would  break  his 
heart!" 

"And  now,"  she  rose  as  she  spoke,  "I  want  to  thank 
you  just  the  same.  You  meant  to  help  me  and  do  good 
to  me,  and  I  do — do  thank  you  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart,  I  do." 

4 '  My  dear ! ' '  Lady  Blessendale  said.    4 '  My — my  dear  1 ' ' 


350  Sunny  Ducrow 

She  held  out  her  arms  and  hugged  Sunny.  Her  ladyship 
did  not  often  give  way  to  sentiment.  She  was  counted 
cold  and  rather  haughty,  distinctly  a  proud  woman. 
Such  tenderness  as  she  was  capable  of  she  lavished  on 
her  son.  Possibly  this  was  the  first  time  in  her  life  that 
her  ladyship  had  hugged  a  young  girl  and  kissed  her 
with  the  warm  affection  she  now  kissed  Sunny. 

"I  only  wish  that  there  was  something  I  could  do!" 
she  said.  "Some  little  thing  that  I  could  do  for  you, 
Sunny,  in  return " 

"Don't  want  no  return!"  Sunny  said.  "What  I 
done,  I  done!"  She  laughed  happily,  she  was  Sunny 
Ducrow  again,  happy,  laughing,  and  merry,  the  bad 
grammar  tripping  irresponsibly  to  her  tongue. 

"You  been  good  to  me,  you  been  wonderful  good, 
taking  an  interest  in  me  and — and  being  kind  to  me,  and 
that's  all  I  want.  Anything  I  done  I  was  glad  to  do, 
and — and  so  don't  never  say  no  more  about  it.  But 
thank  you  all  the  same  for  thinking  so  kind  about  me, 
my  lady,  and  wanting  to  help  me  and  like  that, "  Sunny 
said. 

Sunny  Ducrow  went,  and  Lady  Blessendale  stared 
after  her,  a  very  surprised  woman. 

Dobrington  walked  by  Sunny's  side.  Now  and  again 
he  glanced  down  at  her  happy,  bright  little  face,  but  he 
said  nothing.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  wonder  and 
surprise  in  his  eyes. 

"Sunny, "  he  said  at  last,  "why  didn't  you  tell  me? " 

"Tell  you  what?" 

"  Tell  me  how  hard  you  were  studying,  what  a  lot  you 
know!"  he  said. 

"  What's  the  use  of  talking  about  it  ? "  she  said.  "Law, 
if  you  had  on  a  nice  new  fancy  undervest  all  embroidered 
with  gold  and  jools,  you  wouldn't  go  telling  everyone 
about  it,  would  you?" 


A  Question  of  Education        35 I 

He  laughed.  "No;  but  I'm  not  likely  to  have  such 
an  undervest ! " 

"Nor  didn't  you  think  I  was  likely  to  know  what  I 
know  about  Italian  and  all  the  rest  of  it, "  Sunny  said. 
"So  I  just  kep'  it  to  myself.  One  day  I  may  want  it, 
then  I  can  draw  on  it  and  trot  it  out.  See? " 

"I  see,"  he  said.  "Sunny,  you  are  a  very  wonderful 
girl!" 

"Nothing  to  write  home  about!"  she  said.  "Just 
an  ordinary,  everyday  kind  of  girl,  only  the  difference  in 
me  is  I  mean  to  get  on!" 

"And  you're  getting  on!"  he  said. 

Sunny  nodded. 

"When  I  compare  you  with  myself,  your  life  with 
mine — but  there  is  no  comparison,  you  can  do  everything, 
I  can  do  nothing !  Compared  with  you,  I  am  a  helpless, 
hopeless  idiot!" 

"  Oh,  you  ain't  so  bad  as  all  that ! "  Sunny  said.  "You 
aren't  very  clever,  nor  very  smart  in  some  ways,  but 
you  aren't  a  born  fool  neither!"  She  looked  at  him 
merrily.  "What  you  want,  Vis-count " 

"Don't!"  he  said.  "Don't  call  me  that;  call  me 
Stanley,  that's  my  name,  the  name  my  closest  and  best 
friends  call  me." 

"Stan-ley,"  she  repeated.  "  Too  magnificent !  How'd 
it  be  if  I  called  you  just  Stan?  " 

"Splendid,"  he  said;  "will  you?" 

Sunny  nodded.  "  There  used  to  be  a  kid  living  in  our 
street  named  Stan;  he  got  run  over  by  a  motor-bus — a 
dear  little  kid  he  was ! ' '  She  blinked.  ' '  I  loved  him ;  he 
was  ill  a  terrible  long  time,  but  he  never  murmured  nor 
nothing,  he  just  bore  it  till  he — he  died!  I  like  the  name 
of  Stan!"  she  said. 

"For  his  sake?"  Dobrington  said. 

"Yes." 


352  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Will  you  try  and  like  it  for  mine?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

She  looked  at  him.  "If  I  didn't  like  you  a  lot,  I 
shouldn't  never  call  you  Stan!"  she  said. 

"Thank  you,  Sunny,  I  understand." 

"What  you  want,"  Sunny  said,  as  she  skipped  along 
by  his  side,  "what  you  want,  Stan,  is  a  job!  You  ain't 
got  nothing  to  do  but  to  get  into  mischief.  There's 
nothing  like  having  a  job  to  keep  a  chap,  and  a  girl  too, 
come  to  that,  out  of  trouble." 

"I  expect  you  are  right,"  he  said.  "My  father 
talked  of  the  diplomatic  service." 

"Don't  you  go  into  no  service!"  she  said  urgently. 
"  Don't  you  do  it !  Being  in  service  means  you  don't  get 
no  time  to  yourself,  'cept  perhaps  one  night  a  week  and 
every  other  Sunday.  I  expect  your  people  are  well 
enough  off  to  keep  you  out  of  service." 

"You  don't  understand,"  he  said. 

"No,  I  suppose  I  don't,  only  I  was  thinking —  Look 
here,  Stan,  how  would  you  like  to  go  into  the  Jam  and 
Pickle  business  ? " 

"The  what?"  he  cried. 

"Jam,  Pickles,  and  Sauces,  not  forgetting  the  sauce!" 
she  said. 

"Johnson's,  you  mean?"  he  said. 

"Johnson  &  Ducrow !  You  listen  to  me  and  I'll  tell  you 
all  about  it!"  Sunny  cried.  "I'll  tell  you  everything!" 

She  did,  and  he  listened  with  rapt  attention.  As  she 
talked,  Sunny  grew  excited;  she  waved  her  hands,  her 
face  glowed,  her  eyes  shone.  Enthusiasm  and  excite- 
ment were  carrying  her  off  her  feet.  People  stopped  dead 
and  turned  to  stare  after  her.  Many  smiled;  most  of 
them  knew  her  well  by  sight,  some  few  knew  him. 

"Don't  you  see  it?"  Sunny  said.  "There's  the  land. 
I've  got  an  option  on  it,  got  it  now  in  my  pocket,  thirty 
acres  and  six  I've  bought.  We'll  have  a  model  factory. 


A  Question  of  Education        353 

all  the  walls  white  and  shiny  tiles  and  the  boilers  for  the 
jam,  bright  copper,  so  bright  you  can  see  your  face  in  it. 
And  then  the  cottages,  they  all  got  to  be  pretty,  pretty  as 
they  can  be;  and  each  one's  to  have  a  nice  garden,  and  the 
one  as  keeps  his  garden  best'll  get  a  prize.  And  then 
there'll  be  a  club  for  the  girls  and  a  reading-room,  and 
another  club  for  the  men  and  a  swimming-bath,  and 
— like  that!  Don't  you  see  it?  Say  you  can  see  it 
all!" 

"I  do!"  he  said.  "But  it  will  take  a  fearful  lot  of 
money,  Sunny !" 

"Not  such  a  wonderful  lot!  The  ground's  got,  and 
the  ground's  the  main  thing.  I  got  it  cheap,  and  there's 
acres  more  to  be  got  later  on,  but  it's  no  good  hurrying. 
Goodness,  when  I  shut  my  eyes  I  can  see  it  all:  the 
pretty  little  red-and-white  cottages  and  the  gardens  and 
the — oh,  everything!  And  we'll  run  a  store  there  our- 
selves and  sell  everything  at  just  what  it  costs  us,  so  the 
workers'll  get  the  best  of  everything  at  the  lowest  price. 
Don't  you  see,  can't  you  see  it?  Don't  it  make  you 
want  to  start  work?" 

"I  believe  it  does!"  Dobrington  cried.  "It  sounds 
splendid!" 

"It  is  splendid!"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "If  you'd 
lived  where  I  lived  in  them  narrow  streets  where  you 
scarcely  didn't  see  the  sun  at  all,  where  there  ain't  never 
a  blade  of  grass,  not  a  tree  nor  a  flower !  Where  every- 
thing's dirty  and  smoky !  If — if  you'd  lived  there  like  I 
had,  you'd  understand  what  a  place  like  this  'ud  mean  to 
them  as  is  living  there  now.  It  'ud  mean  new  life  to  some 
of  'em,  some  of  those  gels  you  saw  at  the  beanfeast,  don't 
you  remember  ?" 

"I  do  remember!" 

"Look  at  'em,  some  of  'em  with  their  sailer  faces  and 
their  narrow  chests,  what  'ud  the  country  air  and  the 

23 


354  Sunny  Ducrow 

sunshine  and  the  gardens  and  flowers  and  like  that  do  for 
'em?" 

"I  understand,  Sunny,"  he  said.  "And  you  offer  to 
let  me  come  into  this  great  scheme  of  yours?" 

"I'd  like  you  to  come  in,"  she  said.  "You  was  one 
of  the  two  or  three  I  meant  to  ask." 

"And  the  others?"  he  asked,  with  a  note  of  jealousy 
in  his  voice. 

"Barstowe  and  Mossy,"  she  said.  "Only  them  two 
and  you!" 

"Good,  good!"  His  eyes  shone.  "I'll  come  in, 
Sunny;  how  much  do  you  want  from  me?" 

"Just  what  you  can  get  hold  of,"  she  said. 

He  paused  for  a  moment.  "I  could  manage  five  thouv 
sand,"  he  said.  "Maybe  a  little  more  if  necessary." 

"That's  splendid.  You'll  get  your  share  for  the 
money,  and  you'll  have  to  work;  we  ain't  going  to  have 
no  deadheads  in  this,  Stan!" 

"I  don't  want  to  be  a  deadhead!"  he  said.  "I  want 
to  be  a  very  much  alive  head!  Try  me,  Sunny,  and 
I  promise  I'll  work  like  a  nigger!" 

"I  believe  you  will,  and  I  s'pose  it'll  look  all  right  to 
have  your  name  on  the  prospectuses!"  Sunny  said. 

Dusk  had  fallen,  she  must  hasten  now  to  the  theatre. 
A  little  while  and  she  had  reached  the  stage-door. 

"Well,  so-long!"  she  said.  "You  think  about  what 
I  told  you!" 

"I'm  not  likely  to  forget  it,"  he  said.  "To-morrow 
I  will  let  you  know  exactly  how  much  I  can  put  into  the 
scheme.  It  won't  be  less  than  five  thousand,  it  may  be 
more." 

"That's  all  right,  and,  oh,  by  the  way,  I  didn't  speak 
of  Arthur  Curtiss!  I  got  to  ask  him,  he's  been  a  good 
friend." 

"Arthur  Curtiss!"  Dobrington  said. 


A  Question  of  Education        355 

"Oh,  Arthur's  all  right,  a  bit  starchy,  but  one  of  the 
best,  reely!"  Sunny  said. 

"  You — you  don't  like  him  as — as  you  like  me,  Sunny  ? " 
he  whispered. 

"Goodness,  I  never  thought  about  it!"  she  said. 

"Sunny."  He  paused;  he  looked  up  the  narrow  side 
alley  and  down  it — not  a  soul  was  in  sight.  "Sunny, 
will  you — you  do  something  for  me,  something  that 
I  wish  you  to  do  very  badly? "  he  said. 

"Goodness,  what's  that?" 

"Nothing  very  much,  at  least  not  very  much  to  you, 
a  great  deal  to  me,"  he  said.  "Sunny,  will  you  kiss 
me?" 

She  looked  up  at  him  and  smiled.  "Why,  of  course  I 
will, "  she  said.  She  lifted  her  arms  and  put  them  round 
his  neck,  she  hugged  him  and  kissed  him,  her  soft  lips 
brushed  his  cheek  like  the  touch  of  a  rose  petal  carried 
by  the  wind. 

That  was  all,  but  the  man's  heart  within  him  gave  a 
sudden  leap,  the  blood  tingled  in  his  veins. 

Sunny  darted  into  the  theatre,  Dobrington  walked 
down  to  the  busy  street.  He  stood  on  the  corner  of  the 
pavement. 

"That's  it,"  he  said.  "That's  it,  I've  been  a  mad, 
blind  fool — a  mad,  blind  fool!  I've  awakened  at  last, 
I  know  the  truth!  That's  it,  it's  Sunny,  Sunny  all  the 
time,  just  Sunny!  The  other  was — nothing,  less  than 
nothing!  It's  Sunny!"  He  did  not  know  that  he  was 
speaking  aloud,  he  did  not  care.  People  glanced  at  him, 
they  thought  him  mad,  and  with  reason.  He  had  said, 
"  It's  Sunny ! "  And  it  was  not  sunny,  it  was  night-time, 
and  there  was  a  suspicion  of  a  fog  in  the  air!  Of  course 
the  man  was  mad ! 


CHAPTER  XLVII 

THE   BIRTH   OF    "SUNNYVILLE" 

THERE  was  a  meeting  in  Mossy  Bernstein's  office. 
Present  were  Mr.  Bernstein  himself,  in  a  new  white 
waistcoat;  Barstowe  of  Barstowe's  Realms  in  a  velveteen 
corduroy  coat  and  loose  check  trousers ;  Stanley,  Viscount 
Dobrington,  and  Mr.  Arthur  Curtiss,  both  dressed  in 
exquisite  taste;  Mr.  Johnson  from  the  pickle  factory,  a 
little  ill  at  ease  and  nervous  in  such  society ;  and,  finally, 
Sunny  Ducrow,  who  was  neither  ill  at  ease  nor  nervous. 

"And  now,  for  goodness'  sake,  let's  get  on  with  it," 
she  said.  "  Didn't  someone  ought  to  take  the  chair? " 

"Thomeone  ought!"  Mossy  Bernstein  looked  at  Bar- 
stowe, as  being  the  greatest  man  present. 

But  Barstowe  smiled  grimly.  "I  have  pleasure,"  he 
said,  "in  proposing  that  the  moving  spirit  in  this  venture, 
the  originator  of  the  scheme,  Miss  Sunny  Ducrow,  takes 
the  chair  I" 

Sunny  took  the  chair,  and  she  took  it  with  a  quiet 
dignity  and  grace  that  impressed  Barstowe,  the  silent 
man,  who  saw  everything  and  noted  everything.  Sunny 
Ducrow,  in  the  chair  at  this  the  first  meeting  of  the  new 
John  Crow  Company,  was  a  new  Sunny. 

"I  have  plenty  of  ideas  about  the  factory  and  the 
cottages  for  the  workpeople  and  how  to  lay  out  the  ground 
and  so  on, "  she  said.  "But  I  realize  that  money  counts 
more  than  anything  else.  I  don't  know  much  about 
money.  I  never  had  any  myself,  so  when  you  discuss  the 

356 


The  Birth  of  "  Sunny  ville  "       357 

money  side  of  it,  I  shall  say  nothing,  because  I  understand 
you  are  all  a  great  deal  wiser  than  I  am.  But — but  I  do 
want  red-and-white  cottages  and  nice  little  gardens  with 
white  palings.  I  can  see  it  all  when  I  close  my  eyes. 
And,  later  on,  when  we  can  get  more  land,  there  ought 
to  be  a  park  or  recreation  ground  for  the  children  to  play 
in.  It  would  be  so  different  from —  "  She  paused.  "  I'm 
sorry,"  she  said;  "please  go  on." 

The  meeting  went  on.  It  was  a  strange  but  neverthe- 
less a  certain  fact  that  Stanley,  Viscount  Dobrington,  and 
Mr.  Arthur  Curtiss  contradicted  one  another  several  times 
flatly.  They  looked  at  one  another  with  unfriendly  eyes. 
And  yet,  at  one  time  they  had  been  good  enough  friends. 
But  evidently  something  had  happened  to  upset  their 
friendship. 

The  meeting  was  over  at  last,  and  satisfactorily  over. 
The  new  John  Crow  Works  were  to  be,  the  option  was  to 
be  taken  up.  Barstowe  had  expressed  his  willingness  to 
put  down  a  sum  of  ten  thousand  pounds.  Dobrington 
put  down  five  thousand,  Mossy  Bernstein  a  like  amount. 
Arthur  Curtiss,  who  had  intended  to  risk  a  couple  of 
thousand,  would  not  be  outdone  by  Dobrington,  so  he 
signed  for  five  thousand. 

The  capital  of  the  new  company  was  therefore  twenty- 
five  thousand  pounds  in  cash.  The  proprietary  rights 
in  the  company  were  represented  by  ten  shares. 
Barstowe  held  two,  Dobrington,  Curtiss,  and  Bern- 
stein one  each;  Johnson  of  the  pickle  factory  three 
shares  for  the  ground  and  the  plant,  or  as  much  of 
it  as  could  be  used;  and  the  other  two  shares  belonged 
to  Sunny. 

"And  now  for  a  name  for  the  new  venture,"  Dob" 
rington  said. 

"We've  got  the  name  all  ready — it's  to  be  called  John 
Crow  Town,"  Sunny  said. 


Sunny  Ducrow 

"I  object/'  Dobrington  said.  "I've  got  a  far  better 
name  for  it  than  that!" 

"You  couldn't  have,"  Sunny  said. 

"I  have.  I  suggest  that  it  be  called  Sunny ville," 
Dobrington  said. 

"  Oh  no, "  Sunny  said.     ' '  John  Crow  is ' ' 

But  Sunnyville  it  was,  and  there  was  an  end  of  it ! 


CHAPTER   XLVIII 

TOO   LATE 

MR.  ARTHUR  CURTISS  paced  his  private  office  at 
the  London  Realm.     He  was  in  deep  thought ;  he 
frowned  to  himself.     As  usual,  he  was  immaculately 
dressed;  to-day  he  was  rather  better  dressed  than  usual, 
if  that  were  possible. 

The  door  opened,  the  office  boy  came  in.  "Miss 
Popsy  Giddens  to  see  you,  sir, "  he  said. 

Miss  Popsy  Giddens  was  a  famous  star.  Agents  and 
managers  received  her  hat  in  hand;  she  had  been  known 
to  receive  three  hundred  pounds  for  one  week's  work, 
and  the  lowest  she  would  look  at  was  two  hundred. 

"Tell  Miss  Popsy  Giddens  to  go  to — say  I  can't  see 
her, "  Curtiss  said. 

"But— "he  said. 

"  Clear  out, "  Curtiss  said.  "  I  can't  see  her,  won't  see 
her;  tell  her  I'm  busy!"  The  boy  went  out. 

"If  I  thought  that  that  idiot  of  a  Dobrington  was — " 
Curtiss  thought.  "If  I  thought  for  a  moment — "  He 
paused.  "It  would  serve  me  right!  When  it  was  too 
late,  I  would  suddenly  realize  what  it  meant  to  me!  I 
won't  wait  till  it's  too  late!  Now's  the  time,  now's  the 
time!  It's  not  too  late  yet!"  He  went  to  the  bell  and 
rang  it. 

"Has  that  woman  gone?" 

"Miss  Giddens  is  gone,  sir.     She  seemed  angry;  she 

said  it  was  an  insult  to "  * 

359 


360  Sunny  Ducrow 

"I  don't  care  what  she  said;  when  I  want  to  know 
what  Miss  Giddens  says,  I'll  ask  you!  Is  Miss  Ducrow 
in  the  building?" 

"I  don't  know  if  she's  come  in  yet,  sir;  she  generally 
comes  in  for  letters  of  a  morning." 

"Well,  go  to  the  commissionaire  and  ask  him  if  she 
is  here;  and  if  she  is  here,  say  I  would  be  glad  if  she 
would  spare  me  a  few  minutes.  If  she  hasn't  come  in 
yet,  tell  him  to  tell  her  the  moment  she  comes." 

"Very  good,  sir."     The  boy  went  out. 

"There's  many  a  man,"  Arthur  Curtiss  muttered  to 
himself,  "who  waits  just  too  long,  who  can't  make  up  his 
mind,  and  then  makes  it  up  to  find  out  that  he's  lost 
everything  that  makes  life  worth  living.  I'm  not  going  to 
be  among  that  lot ;  I've  made  up  my  mind !  I  don't  think 
either  it  wanted  much  making  up.  Somehow,  it  came 
naturally.  There's  no  one  like  her  in  the  world;  she's 
only  a  child,  there  needn't  be  a  hurry — another  year, 
say — but  I  want  to  make  sure  of  her!" 

The  door  opened  and  Sunny  came  in.  She  was  tresh 
from  the  sunlight  of  the  streets  and  seemed  to  carry  a 
good  deal  of  it  with  her  into  the  room.  Her  face  was 
beaming,  her  eyes  dancing. 

"I've  just  been  down  there  to  Havers,"  she  said — 
"Sunnyville,  I  mean.  They're  getting  on  splendidly. 
It's  going  to  be  lovely!"  she  cried.  "Oh,  you  don't 
know  how  I'm  longing  and  looking  forward  to  it  when  it 
is  all  done,  all  ready!  Those  dear  little  cott  .ges,  such 
boxes  they  do  look,  and  yet  they  say  that  they  will  be 
quite  large;  and  there's  to  be  a  bathroom  in  each  one, 
think  of  that  and " 

She  chattered  on,  and  he  stood  looking  at  her.  Her 
little  face  was  glowing,  radiant;  her  eyes  glinted  and 
sparkled;  her  red  lips,  like  twin  rose  petals,  were  parted, 
showing  the  pearly  glitter  of  her  perfect  teeth.  Best  of 


Too  Late  361 

all,  the  glorious  red  hair  of  her  shone  around  her  little 
head  like  an  aureole  of  glory. 

Arthur  Curtiss  stood  and  looked  at  her;  he  was  not 
listening.  He  could  only  look  and  look  his  fill.  Was 
there  in  all  this  sombre,  dreary  old  world  such  a  radiant 
picture  as  this  to  gladden  the  eyes  of  a  man?  And  to 
think  that  this  picture,  this  wonderful  breathing  reality, 
might  one  day  be  his,  all  his  own ! 

"Oh,  I  forgot!"  she  said  breathlessly.  "I  rattle  on 
and  forget  everything,  don't  I?  I  am  sorry,  Arthur. 
You  sent  for  me?" 

"  Yes,  I  sent  for  you, "  he  said  heavily. 

"About  that  new  sketch?  It's  to  go  on  in  a  week,  and 
I'm  all  ready.  I  shan't  make  a  mess  of  it,  you  can  betcher 
life!" 

"I  don't  anticipate  that  you  will  make  a  mess  of  it; 
it's  not  in  you  to  make  a  mess  of  anything,  Sunny 
Ducrow!" 

"That's  the  nicest  thing  you've  said  to  me  for  the  last 
hundred  years,"  she  said.  "I'll  get  through  all  right. 
See?  Sunny  Ducrow  as  a  tragedienne,  what?"  She 
laughed.  "And  now,  what  is  it?" 

She  looked  at  him  expectantly. 

Arthur  Curtiss  hesitated ;  he  pulled  up  his  shirt  collar, 
shot  out  his  cuff;  he  coughed  and  stalked  to  the  mantel- 
piece. Here  he  assumed  a  graceful  attitude  of  negligence. 

"You've  got  on  new  trousis, "  Sunny  said.  "I  like 
that  pattern." 

"I'm  glad,"  he  said  shortly. 

"And  a  gardenia  in  your  buttonhole,  too!"  Sunny 
said .  ' '  Things  are  looking  up ! " 

"It's  a  camellia,"  he  said  briefly. 

"That  shows  what  a  lot  I  don't  know!"  she  said. 
"  Well,  anyhow,  you  look  very  nice  this  morning.  Going 
out  to  a  party,  or  what?" 


362  Sunny  Ducrow 

"I  am  not!"  he  said.  "Sunny,  I  want  to  speak  to 
you." 

"Well,  it's  me  doing  most  of  the  talking,  isn't  it,  old 
dear? "  she  said.  "What's  it  about — the  jam  factory,  or 
what?  Or  is  it  the  new  sketch?  If  it's  the  sketch,  for 
goodness'  sake  don't  worry.  I'm  coming  through  all 
right,  I'll  betcher!" 

"It's  neither  the  one  thing  nor  the  other!  It  is — 
ahem! — a  more  personal" — he  paused — "a  far  more 
personal  matter ! ' ' 

"I  know,"  Sunny  said.  "I  know  what  it  is!  It's 
that  six  pound  I'm  overdrawn.  I'll  make  it  all  right  this 
week,  when  Friday  comes,  and " 

"I  tell  you,  it  is  not!"  he  said  angrily.  "Sunny,  will 
you  listen,  will  you  be  quiet  a  moment?" 

"Goodness!  Ain't  I  quiet,  haven't  I  been  waiting  for 
you  to  talk  all  the  time?  Only  you  don't  say  a  word, 
you  just  pull  your  collar  about  and  disarrange  your 
tie!  Oh,  what  a  lovely  tie!  What's  that — moire  silk, 
or  what?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  don't  care!"  he  shouted.  "Sunny, 
listen!" 

"  Wait  a  moment ! ' '  she  said.  She  ran  across  the  room 
and  sprang  on  to  the  table.  She  sat  there,  swinging  her 
small  feet  and  watching  him  with  her  bright  eyes. 

"Don't  hurry!"  she  said.  "It's  only  Tuesday  yet, 
we've  got  the  best  part  of  the  week  before  us;  we  can 
knock  off  for  meals  and  the  performance.  For  goodness* 
sake,  Arthur,  don't  hurry!" 

"Sunny,  can  you  be  serious?"  he  said. 

She  nodded.  "When  I  want  to,  but  I  don't  feel  like 
being  serious  this  morning.  I've  been  seeing  it  all,  those 
little  red-and-white  cottages,  each  with  a  bathroom 
and " 

"Hang  the  cottages,   blow  the  bathrooms,   bother 


Too  Late  363 

everything!  Sunny,  listen  to  me.  Sunny,  I — "  He 
paused.  ' '  Sunny,  I  love  you ! ' ' 

Sunny  sat  still,  her  feet  refused  to  swing;  she  stared 
at  him. 

"I  love  you,  Sunny,  with  all  my  heart,"  he  said. 
"I  want  you  to  promise  to  one  day  be  my  wife." 

"You — you  poor  old  dear!"  she  said.  "You  poor 
dear  old  thing,  you !  What's  the  matter? " 

"Sunny,  I  mean  it,  I  mean  it!  I  love  you.  I  think 
I  fell  in  love  with  you  the  very  first  day  I  saw  that  dear 
little  red  head  of  yours  and  that  bright  face  of  yours ;  you 
just  walked  straight  into  my  heart,  dear!  I've  got  to 
look  for  you,  to  hope  for  you,  to  listen  for  you;  but  I 
was  a  fool,  I  didn't  realize  what  it  meant  to  me!  I 
do  realize  it  now.  I  love  you.  I  want  you  to  belong 
to  me !  I  know  you  are  young  yet — only  just  seventeen, 
aren't  you,  dear?  But  we  could  wait  a  year,  wait 
till " 

Sunny  slipped  down  from  the  table.  She  came  to  him 
and  put  her  arms  suddenly  round  his  neck;  she  drew  his 
face  down  and  kissed  him  on  the  cheek. 

" Forget  it,  Arthur, "  she  said  softly.  "Forget  it,  dear 
old  Arthur.  I  love  you  a  lot,  a  heap  in  another  way!  I 
love  your  dear,  solemn  old  face  more  than  I  can  tell  you, 
but — but  it  can't  be  that  way.  You  understand,  don't 
you,  dear?" 

He  nodded  silently. 

"I  hate  hurting  you,"  she  said;  her  eyes  filled  sud- 
denly— "hate  it,  hate  it!  I'd  sooner  cut  my  hand  off 
than  hurt  you;  you  know  that,  don't  you?" 

"Then — then  it  can  never  be?"  he  said  wistfully. 

She  shook  her  head.  "It  can't  be!"  she  said.  "Me 
and  you  must  be  good  friends,  the  best  of  friends,  Arthur; 
we'll  always  be  that,  shan't  we?" 

"Always,  Sunny  dear!"  he  said.     "Always!"     There 


364  Sunny  Ducrow 

was  a  lump  in  his  throat.  It  was  a  blow,  but  he  took 
it  like  the  man  he  was. 

"So— so  it's  off!"  he  said.  "Eh?  Off  for  good  and 
all!  No  chance  for  me,  no  hope,  Sunny,  that  you  may 
ever  change  your  mind  ? ' '  He  looked  at  her  with  the  last 
gleam  of  hope  in  his  eyes. 

Sunny  shook  her  head.  "I  shan't  never  change  my 
mind,  dear,"  she  said.  She  went  to  him  and  slipped 
her  warm  little  hand  into  his.  "Only  it  won't  make  no 
difference  between  us,  except  perhaps  it'll  make  us  like 
one  another  better  than  ever!"  she  said. 

"I — I  suppose  so.  I'll  get  used  to  it  in  time,  it — it 
hurts  a  bit  now,  Sunny." 

"I  know — at  least  I  don't  know,  but  I  s'poseit  does!" 
she  said. 

"Sunny,  does  it  mean  that  there  is — is  someone  else? " 
he  said. 

She  looked  at  him;  the  color  flooded  her  face  to  her 
white  neck.  Her  eyes  filled  suddenly ;  she  drew  her  hand 
slowly  from  his. 

"I  don't  know;  I  don't  know,"  Sunny  Ducrow  said. 
"I  don't  know." 

But  he  did! 

She  was  gone,  and  he  stood  staring  down  at  the  empty 
fireplace. 

"After  all,  I  was  too  late!"  he  said.  "Too  late;  my 
luck!  Well — "  He  heaved  a  great  sigh.  "God  bless 
her  all  the  same,  dear,  sweet  little  soul!" 

And  Sunny  walked  out  into  the  street  with  a  far-away 
look  in  her  eyes,  her  lips  parted. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  had  said  to  Arthur  Curtiss.  "I 
don't  know." 

Did  she  know?     She  wondered.     Did  she  know? 

"I  haven't  got  no  right  to  go  and  fall  in  love  with  no 
one!"  she  said.  "Least  of  all  with  someone  who" — 


Too  Late  365 

she  paused — "someone  who  couldn't  never  think  of  a 
girl  like  me,  a  girl  who  wasn't  nothing  and  nobody!  I 
was  wrong,  I  do  know !  Only — only  I  know,  and  no  one 
else  ever  will!  I've  got  to  forget  it,  get  the  best  of  it, 
never  think  of  it!  After  all,  there's  more  things  in  the 
world  than  love — ' '  •  She  paused.  She  stood  on  the  edge 
of  the  pavement  and  watched  the  flow  of  the  traffic. 
Into  her  bright  eyes  came  a  soft,  tender  light. 

"Yes,  there's  more  things  in  this  world  than  love," 
she  whispered.  "But  love's  the  best  thing  of  all!" 

And  then  she  laughed  suddenly  and  waved  her  hands 
to  a  policeman. 

"Can't  you  stop  the  procession,  Mister  Constable?" 
she  called  out,  "I  want  to  get  acrost!" 

And  he  smiled  back  at  her  and  lifted  a  large  hand  and 
held  up  the  traffic,  while  Miss  Sunny  Ducrow  crossed 
the  street. 


CHAPTER   XLIX 

SOMETHING   A    LITTLE    WRONG 

MISS  SUNNY  DUCROW,  who  has  for  so  long  been 
a  favorite  with  the  patrons  of  the  Realm,  proved 
herself  to  be  as  versatile  as  she  is  charming.  Her  per- 
formance came  altogether  as  a  surprise  to  the  audience, 
which  had  grown  accustomed  to  seeing  her  in  lighter 
parts.  In  the  last  scene,  when  she  appeared  on  the  stage 
alone,  she  held  the  house  spellbound  by  the  tragic  force 
she  displayed.  And  yet,  regretfully  it  must  be  written, 
regarded  from  an  artistic  point  of  view,  the  production 
could  hardly  be  considered  a  success. 

"  It  was  hardly  fair  to  Miss  Ducrow;  the  audience  was 
not  prepared  to  accept  her  as  a  tragedienne.  Miss 
Ducrow  had  to  live  down  the  reputation  she  has  made  as 
a  charming  young  player  of  light  comedy.  It  was,  in 
fact,  some  time  before  the  audience  seemed  to  awaken  to 
the  fact  that  the  performance  was  tragedy,  pure  and 
simple. 

"It  is,  however,  not  saying  too  much  to  declare  that 
Miss  Ducrow  made  a  brilliant  success  and  rose  to  heights 
that  even  her  most  enthusiastic  admirers  had  never 
believed  her  capable  of.  But  the  strain  was  too  much,  it 
evidently  told  upon  her  when  she  was  called  after  the 
curtain. 

"If  we  might  offer  Miss  Ducrow  a  little  friendly 
advice,  we  would  suggest  that  she  refrained  from  such 

566 


Something  a  Little  Wrong       367 

highly  emotional  parts  as  that  of  Gerda  Nelstein,  the  spy 
adventuress,  for  some  years  to  come.  One  cannot  doubt 
that  she  has  the  ability,  after  last  night's  performance. 
That  one  day  she  will  reach  to  great  heights  one  cannot 
doubt  either,  but  she  is  young,  and  though  her  make-up 
last  night  was  wonderful,  there  is  still  much  of  the  child 
about  her,  for  such  a  part  as  this.  That  she  made  a 
brilliant  success  in  the  face  of  natural  difficulties  is  all  the 
more  to  her  credit.  As  to  the  play  itself,  there  was 
much  that  was  good  in  it  and  much  that  was  poor.  Here 
and  there  the  touch  of  the  amateur  play-writer  was 
evident.  It  is  Mr.  Albert  Jackson's  first  venture,  but  in 
all  probability  it  will  not  be  his  last.  We  look  for  some- 
thing more  brilliant  from  his  pen.  Last  night  was  the 
promise  of  better  things  to  come." 

Sunny  lay  in  bed  reading  the  Morning  Cry.  It  was 
the  paper  that  Wallace  Angus  contributed  his  criticism 
to,  and  Angus  was  counted  the  best  critic  of  the  time. 
He  had  been  kind,  far  more  kind  than  Sunny  had  dared 
to  hope  for;  her  cheeks  flushed  when  she  read  his  praise 
of  herself. 

Last  night  had  been  the  first  night  of  Bert's  sketch  at 
the  Realm,  and  Sunny  was  staying  in  bed  this  morning 
to  read  the  criticisms  in  the  morning  papers.  There  were 
half  a  dozen  papers  lying  on  her  bed;  she  skimmed 
through  the  others.  Some  said  much  as  Angus  said, 
some  were  enthusiastically  flattering,  only  one  con- 
demned. 

Sunny  threw  them  all  aside;  she  put  her  hands  behind 
her  head  and  smiled. 

"  Well,  anyhow,  I  did  it !"  she  said.  "  I  did  it ;  but  he 
was  right,  it  took  it  out  of  me  dreadfully!  I  didn't  think 
it  would,  but  it  did.  Perhaps  I  was  wrong.  I  dare  say 
he's  right.  I  ought  to  leave  heavy  parts  like  that  for  a 
bit.  What's  the  matter  with  me  is,  I'm  jumping  for 


368  Sunny  Ducrow 

something  that's  just  a  bit  beyond  my  reach.  I  can't 
quite  get  hold  of  it  yet.  I  can  touch  it  when  I  jump  hard, 
but  only  just  touch  it.  Presently  I'll  be  able  to  get  hold 
of  it  easy!" 

She  paused;  her  reverie  was  broken.  Mrs.  Melkin 
came  into  the  room. 

"Ain't  you  never  going  to  get  up  this  lovely  morning, 
Elizabeth  Ann  Ducrow?" 

"It  isn't  often  I  stay  in  bed,"  Sunny  said.  "I'm 
going  to  get  up  now.  I  was  late  and  a  bit  tired  last 
night;  it  was  a  heavy  part." 

Mrs.  Melkin  sniffed.  "Heavy  part?"  she  said. 
"Much  good  your  heavy  parts  seem  to  do!  Ain't  we 
never  going  to  have  a  home  of  our  own,  Elizabeth  Ann? 
Are  we  going  to  be  in — in  respectable  lodgings  for  the 
rest  of  our  lives?" 

"Oh,  there's  plenty  of  time  to  see  about  a  home!" 
Sunny  said.  "Tell  me,  old  dear,  how  you'd  like  to  go 
and  live  out  in  the  country." 

"I'd  hate  it!"  Mrs.  Melkin  said  decidedly. 

Sunny 's face  fell.  "Well,  it  wouldn't  be  far  out, "  she 
said.  "Not  more'n  about  ten  miles!" 

"I'd  'ate  it!"  Mrs.  Melkin  said.  "I'm  a  town  bird, 
lam!" 

"How  about  a  nice  little  red-and-white  house  with 
honeysuckles  and  things?"  Sunny  said. 

"I'd  'ate  it!"  Mrs.  Melkin  repeated. 

"And  a  bathroom?"  Sunny  asked  hopefully.  "And 
a  kitchen  with  nice  red  tiles  on  the  floor,  and  a  back 
garden  with  cabbages  and  like  that?" 

"Not  me!"  said  Mrs.  Melkin. 

Sunny  sighed.  "I  thought  you'd  'a'  jumped  at  it!" 
she  said. 

"I'd  'ate  the  very  sight  of  it.  Give  me  London  and 
the  shops)" 


Something  a  Little  Wrong       369 

Sunny  sighed.  "I  thought  you  would  like  it,"  she 
said.  "I  had  an  idea,  but! — "  She  paused. 

"What's  all  them  papers?"  Mrs.  Melkin  asked. 

"Only  about  the  piece  last  night." 

"Oh,  that  piece  of  Bert  Jackson's!  Laugh  at  it,  I 
should  think,  don't  they?" 

"Not  quite!"  Sunny  said. 

"Well,  if  they  didn't,  they  ought  to!  Bert  Jackson 
writing  plays!  What's  things  coming  to?  Him  as  used 
to  be  in  the  pickles " 

"And  me  too,  I  was  in  the  pickles!"  Sunny  said. 
"Only  things  change  a  bit!" 

"Any'ow,  don't  mention  no  country  "ome!"  Mrs. 
Melkin  said.  "  No !  nor  no  bathrooms  nor  tiled  kitchens 
neither;  and  as  for  cabbages  in  the  garden,  I  never  could 
abide  the  smell  of  them  growing!" 

"All  right, "  Sunny  said.  "All  right,  we'll  get  a  little 
flat  somewhere  later  on." 

"Later  on?     It's  always  later  on!"  Mrs.  Melkin  said. 

Sunny  rose;  she  bathed  and  dressed.  It  was  eleven 
o'clock  when  she  opened  the  front  door  of  the  house  in 
Bloomsbury  and  went  out.  Outside  the  door  a  car  had 
pulled  up ;  in  the  car  was  Lord  Dobrington. 

"Good-morning,  Sunny,"  he  said.  "Ripping  notices 
about  you  in  the  papers,  and  you  deserve  it  all!  See 
what  Angus  said  about  you  in  the  Cry?" 

She  nodded.  "And  he  was  right, "  she  said;  "he  was 
dead  right!  I'm  jumping  a  bit  too  high.  I've  got  to 
wait  till  I've  grown  a  bit." 

' '  Oh ,  rot ! "  he  said.  ' '  These  chaps  always  qualify  their 
praise.  It  was  a  ripping  notice.  I  read  it  aloud  to  my 
mother  and  she  was  delighted  with  it!" 

"Was  she?"  said  Sunny. 

"Rather!"  He  made  room  for  her  beside  him. 
"Jump  in,  Sunny,"  he  said. 


370  Sunny  Ducrow 

He  himself  was  driving  the  smart  little  two-seater,  and 
now,  with  the  skill  of  a  practised  driver,  he  put  it  through 
the  traffic. 

Sunny  did  not  talk  while  they  were  negotiating  the 
worst  of  the  traffic,  but  presently,  when  Ealing  was 
passed  and  the  road  became  less  congested,  she  began. 

"It 'sail  off!  "she  said. 

"Off?    What's  off?" 

"Me  living  at  Sunny ville, "  she  said.  "I  spoke  about 
it  to  aunt,  and  she  nearly  had  a  fit.  She's  against  living 
in  the  country ;  and  I  did  look  forward  to  it  so, "  she  said. 
"I'd  made  up  my  mind  to  have  one  of  those  little  red- 
and-white  cottages,  and  look  after  things  there  during 
the  day,  and  help  a  bit  in  the  factory,  and — and  one 
thing  and  another,  but  there  it  is!  Aunt  won't  listen  to 
it,  so  it's  off!" 

"Poor  old  girl!"  Dobrington  said.  He  looked  at  the 
little  face  beside  him.  He  looked  more  often  than  he 
should,  seeing  that  he  was  responsible  for  the  well-being 
of  the  car. 

"So  you  want  to  live  in  the  country?"  he  said. 

"I'd  love  it!  It  was  just  lovely  that  night  I  stayed  at 
Barstowe's,  getting  up  in  the  morning  and  seeing  the 
fields  and  the  cows  and  the  hens  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  and 
the  fresh  air !  Oh,  I'd  love  it ! " 

"You've  never  seen  our  country  home,  Sunny,  at 
Great  Harwell— Harwell  Towers?" 

"Of  course  I  haven't, "  she  said. 

"Sunny,  supposing  we  run  on  there  now, — it's  only 
fifty  miles, — instead  of  going  to  Sunnyville  this  morning, 
as  we  intended?  Let's  make  for  Great  Harwell,  shall 
we?"  He  looked  at  her  eagerly.  "  I'd  love  you  to  see  our 
place!" 

"I'd  love  to  see  it!" 

He  looked  at  the  clock  on  the  dashboard.     "  If  we  put 


Something  a  Little  Wrong       371 

it  on  we  ought  to  be  there  by  half-past  one.  I  could  send 
Mrs.  Mathers  a  wire  from  Uxbridge  to  tell  her  to  have 
luncheon  ready.  We  could  leave  there  at  four  and  be 
back  in  town  by  six,  shall  we?" 

Sunny  nodded. 

" Right ! "  he  said.  "I've  wanted  you  to  see  our  place 
badly." 

At  Uxbridge  they  stopped  for  a  few  minutes  while  he 
sent  a  telegram  to  the  housekeeper  at  Harwell  Towers, 
warning  her  of  their  coming  for  lunch. 

The  country  was  lovely;  it  was  a  glorious  day,  and 
Sunny  gave  herself  up  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  trip. 
London  and  the  theatres  seemed  very,  very  far  away;  the 
little  car  ran  like  a  dream.  They  did  not  talk  much,  and 
Sunny  was  glad.  Now  and  again  Dobrington  glanced  at 
her,  sometimes  their  eyes  met,  and  they  smiled.  They 
were  good  friends,  the  best  of  good  friends;  there  was  a 
complete  understanding  between  them,  there  was  no 
need  for  any  unnecessary  conversation. 

And  the  car  made  good  time;  it  was  just  after  one 
when  they  ran  into  the  quaint,  irregular  little  street  of 
Great  Harwell.  It  was  an  old-world  village,  six  miles 
from  the  nearest  railway  station  and  consequently  un- 
spoiled. The  pavements  were  of  rough  cobbles,  the  little 
cottages  had  whitewashed  walls  and  roofs  of  thatch,  or  of 
irregular,  weather-  and  time-stained  tiles.  Old  dames 
with  smiling  faces  bobbed  curtsies  to  Dobrington  as  the 
car  passed,  old  men  touched  their  hats  to  him. 

"Everyone  seems  to  know  you  here, "  Sunny  said. 

"They  ought, "  he  said,  with  a  laugh ;  "we've  been  here 
over  four  hundred  years.  I  was  born  here ;  it's  my  home, 
you  know." 

Before  them  was  a  pair  of  large  stone  pillars,  sur- 
mounted by  carved  lions  holding  shields.  On  the  pillars 
swung  beautifully  wrought-iron  gates. 


372  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Lor',  we  didn't  ought  to  go  in  here,  did  we?"  Sunny 
asked,  as  the  car  went  between  the  gate  pillars. 

Dobrington  smiled.  "  It's  our  place, "  he  said.  "  Har- 
well Towers." 

Sunny  said  nothing;  she  looked  about  her.  She  saw 
smooth,  green  sward,  on  which  fed  deer.  She  had  never 
seen  deer  in  her  life,  except  once  in  Richmond  Park;  her 
eyes  widened  and  she  held  her  breath. 

"You — you  don't  mean,"  she  whispered,  "you  don't 
mean  it — it  all  belongs  to  you?" 

"To  my  father!"  he  said.  "It'll  be  mine  one  day,  I 
suppose,  though  I  hope  not  for  many  a  long  day  yet. 
He's  the  dearest  and  best  old  fellow  in  the  world,  my 
governor!" 

And  there,  at  last,  was  the  house  itself.  It  stood  back, 
a  large  sheet  of  water  reflected  it  to  the  most  minute 
detail.  A  long,  low,  rambling,  old-fashioned  place  of 
stone,  with  mullioned  windows  and  queer  churchlike- 
looking  doorways.  It  stood  high,  built  on  a  slight  hill 
which  had  been  cut  into  terraces. 

"Like  it?  "he  asked. 

Sunny  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  "Go — go  slow. 
Oh,  please  stop;  I  want  to  look!"  she  said.  "I  want  to 
see  it  from  just  here!" 

He  stopped  the  car  and  she  gazed  her  fill. 

"Well?  "he  asked. 

"It's  wonderful.  I  never  saw  anything  like  it!  It's 
almost  exactly  like  the  drop  scene  at  the  Realm,  only 
better!  Didn't  there  ought  to  be  some  swans  on  the 
lake  there?"  t 

He  laughed.  "There  shall  be  one  day  if  you  like, 
Sunny, "  he  said  meaningly. 

But  she  did  not  accept  his  meaning,  did  not  understand 
it — the  house  engrossed  her  attention. 

"Now — now  go  on!"  she  said  pensively. 


Something  a  Little  Wrong       373 

He  drove  slowly  up  the  winding  drive  that  brought 
them  at  last  to  the  main  entrance.  And  there  a  pleasant- 
looking  old  woman  in  a  fine,  rustling,  black  silk  dress 
stood  waiting  to  receive  them. 

"It's  only  a  short  stay,  Mrs.  Mathers,"  he  said. 
"  Miss  Ducrow  and  I  wanted  the  run.  We'll  have  lunch 
when  it  is  ready,  look  around,  and  then  off!" 

"Everything's  ready,  my  lord, "  she  said.  She  smiled 
at  Sunny,  and  Sunny  smiled  back.  There  was  something 
so  warm  and  so  friendly  about  Sunny's  smile  that  Mrs. 
Mathers  was  her  friend  from  that  moment  onwards. 

"The  young  lady  would  like  to  wash  and  tidy  her  hair 
perhaps?"  Mrs.  Mathers  said. 

"Yes,  of  course.  Will  you  take  Miss  Ducrow  to  a 
room  and  see  she  has  all  she  wants,  Mrs.  Mathers?" 

Sunny  followed  the  old  dame.  She  looked  about  her 
wonderingly ;  her  eyes  took  in  everything,  yet  everything 
was  a  little  indistinct.  Dark  oaken  walls,  against  which 
glimmered  suits  of  old  armor,  great  pictures  in  massive 
frames,  a  hearth  in  which  a  dozen  people  could  sit,  and  a 
fireplace  in  which  a  scuttleful  of  coals  would  go  nowhere. 
This  Sunny  saw;  she  saw  also  a  wide  staircase,  a  wonder- 
ful stained-glass  window  that  reminded  her  of  church,  a 
landing  like  a  gallery  overhanging  the  hall  on  all  four  sides, 
from  which  doors  opened  into  innumerable  bedrooms. 

"It  isn't  like  a  house  at  all,"  Sunny  thought.  "It's 
more  like  a — a — I  don't  know  what!  It  seems  too  big 
and  too  lovely  for  anyone  to  live  in." 

Mrs.  Mathers  was  proud  of  Harwell;  she  was  always 
pleased  to  show  its  beauties,  and  she  appreciated  the  look 
in  this  girl's  eyes. 

"This  is  the  picture  gallery,"  she  said.  And  Sunny 
saw  a  long  room,  top  lighted,  on  the  walls  of  which  hung 
seemingly  numberless  great  paintings. 

Mrs.  Mathers  prattled  about  Van  Dycks  and  Knellers 


374  Sunny  Ducrow 

and  Gainsboroughs,  Romneys  and  Raeburns  and  the 
other  great  masters  who  were  all  represented  here. 

"And  this  is  her  ladyship,  a  wonderful  likeness,  every- 
one agrees,  painted  by  Lord  Leighton;  and  this  is  his 
lordship,  painted  by — I  forget  the  name;  it's  a  fine 
portrait  though,  and  it's  exactly  like  him." 

Sunny  looked  at  the  portrait  of  Dobrington's  father,  a 
fine,  stout,  white-haired,  pleasant-faced  old  gentleman. 

"And  this  is  his  young  lordship,  painted  by  Sargent," 
Mrs.  Mathers  continued,  "and  considered  to  be  a  very 
good  likeness;  of  course  he  was  much  younger  then." 

Sunny  stared  at  the  frank,  bright-looking  boy  that 
was  like  Dobrington  now  and  yet  unlike  him. 

"And  this" — Mrs.  Mathers  dragged  her  on —  "is  Sir 
Harry  Alwyn,  of  the  time  of  Charles  the  First,  painted 
by  Van  Dyck,  and  considered  one  of  the  finest  paintings 
in  the  gallery,  and  this " 

"Didn't  I  better  go  and — and  get  washed?"  Sunny 
gasped. 

Dobrington  was  waiting  for  her  in  the  hall.  "Lunch 
will  be  ready  soon, "  he  said.  "  Meanwhile,  I'll  show  you 
about,  as  we  shan't  have  too  much  time. 

"This  is  the  drawing-room!" 

Sunny  gasped;  she  did  not  attempt  to  say  anything. 

Nor  did  she  say  anything  when  the  library,  the  morn- 
ing-room, the  billiard-room,  and  the  dining-room  were 
disclosed  to  her  gaze. 

Finally  they  came  to  anchor  in  the  morning-room, 
where  he  had  ordered  lunch  to  be  served. 

"Well,  Sunny?" 

"It's  all  wonderful.  I  never  dreamed  of  there  being 
a  place  like  it ! "  she  said.  "  Never ! "  She  stared  out  of 
the  window ;  she  saw  the  great  park  with  its  magnificent 
trees,  the  placid  sheet  of  water  on  which  there  were  no 
swans. 


Something  a  Little  Wrong       375 

"  It's  a  pity  there  isn't  no  swans, "  she  said.  Somehow 
she  felt  glad  to  be  able  to  find  fault,  to  find  that  there 
was  something  missing. 

"There  shall  be ;  you  shall  have  all  the  swans  you  want, 
Sunny, "  he  said.  He  stood  beside  her  in  the  window. 

"Me?  what's  it  to  do  with  me?  I  don't  suppose  I'll 
ever  see  it  again!" 

"I  hope  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  that  you  will!" 
he  said  earnestly.  "Sunny,  it's  the  wish  of  my  life  that 
you  shall  see  it  very,  very  often." 

"Why?  "she  asked. 

Dobrington  did  not  answer  her;  his  hand  reached  out 
and  touched  hers,  his  fingers  closed  around  her  hand. 

"Sunny,  I've  pictured  you  here  often,"  he  said. 
"  Pictured  you  in  this  old  place." 

"And  I'm  here!"  she  said.  "Funny  you  should  have 
thought  of  me  being  here!" 

" It's  not  funny,  it's  serious,  very  serious  to  me!"  He 
paused  for  a  moment. 

"Sunny,  how — how  would  you  like  this  for  your 
home?"  he  said. 

"  My  home?  not  me !  I'd  be  worried  to  death !  It's  a 
wonderful  place  to  come  and  look  at,  but  think  of  keeping 
all  those  rooms  dusted  and  swept  and 

"But  there  are  servants  to  do  that." 

"And  think  of  having  to  look  after  the  servants  and 
see  that  they  did  their  work!" 

"But  Mrs.  Mathers  does  that." 

"Well,  what  would  there  be  for  me  to  do?" 

"To  be  mistress,  just  mistress  here,  to  be  my — " 
He  paused.  The  door  behind  him  had  opened,  and  a 
man-servant  had  brought  in  the  lunch. 


CHAPTER  L 

THE  AWAKENING 

"I'M   glad  that   you  have  seen  my  home,   Sunny," 

1    Dobrington  said. 

"So  am  I,"  Sunny  said. 

"  I  hope  that  you  will  see  it  again  and  often ! ' ' 

They  had  left  Great  Harwell  far  behind  them.  It 
was  nearly  five,  in  an  hour  they  would  once  more  be  back 
in  London,  and  Sunny  would  only  be  just  in  time  for  the 
first  house  at  the  Realm. 

"It's  been  all  like  a  dream,"  she  said.  "It's  been 
wonderful,  it's  been  a  day  I  shan't  never  forget!" 

"  But  it's  no  dream,  it's  reality,  it  is  there  waiting  for — 
for — "  He  paused  again;  he  looked  at  her.  The  glow 
of  the  setting  sun  was  on  her  face,  her  hair  shone  like 
pure  red  gold  about  her  white  brow,  her  eyes  were  alive 
with  light,  her  red  lips  parted  showed  the  glimmer  of  her 
little  white  teeth,  and  he  looked  and  looked  again. 

"Sunny,"  he  whispered.  "Sunny,  I  want  to  tell  you 
something.  But  not  now.  I  want  to  tell  you  about  a 
dream  I  have,  a  daydream,  a  dream  that's  with  me  all 
the  time." 

"What's  it  about?"  she  said. 

"About  my  home  there  and — and  you,"  he  said. 
"  About  you ! "  He  looked  her  full  in  the  eyes.  "Can't 
you  guess,  dear?"  he  said  softly. 

Perhaps  she  could.  A  soft  color  flamed  into  her 
cheeks;  her  eyes  refused  to  meet  his  for  a  moment.  In 

376 


The  Awakening  377 

that  moment  the  woman  in  Sunny  Ducrow  awakened. 
Her  heart  seemed  to  leap  up  and  then  to  stand  still.  A 
sudden  knowledge  came  to  her — the  knowledge  that  she 
loved  this  man,  this  good  friend,  this  comrade;  that  he 
was  all  that  and  more  to  her. 

"Sunny!  "he  said. 

"Don't,  don't,"  she  whispered.  "Don't  talk  to  me 
now.  I  want  to  think  of  it  all,  to  think  of  this  wonderful 
day!" 

"No,  this  is  not  the  time  nor  place,"  he  said.  "But, 
Sunny,  do  you  understand,  dear,  do  you  begin  to  under- 
stand?" 

She  did  not  answer,  and  it  was  proof  that  she  did 
understand. 

And  now  they  were  back  among  the  traffic,  the  roar  of 
London  was  in  their  ears,  and  it  needed  all  his  attention, 
all  his  skill  to  guide  the  car,  for  time  was  pressing  and 
Sunny  must  hurry.  People  would  even  now  be  flocking 
into  the  Realm  for  the  first  show. 

He  turned  up  the  little  side  street  at  last  and  came  to 
a  standstill,  and  Sunny  got  out. 

"It's  been  wonderful!"  she  said.  He  held  her  hand 
in  his.  He  looked  straight  into  her  eyes,  and  for  once  in 
her  life  Sunny  could  not  look  back;  her  eyes  dropped 
before  his,  a  rich  color  came  into  her  cheeks. 

"It  is  you  who  are  wonderful!"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  LI 

JUST   A   LITTLE   TOO   FAST 

"  TOLLY  good  notices! "  Curtiss  said.    "Better  than  I 
J     dared  hope  for,  Sunny!  " 

Sunny  nodded.    "  Better'n  I  looked  for  too!  "  she  said. 

"But  Angus  is  right.    You've  seen  the  Cry?  " 

"Yes,  I  seen  it!" 

"He's  right;  you're  not  old  enough  for  such  a  part. 
It's  too  much,  far  too  much  for  you.  I  thought  you 
looked  white  and  played  out  when  it  was  over,  though  to 
look  at  you  now — "  Curtiss  paused  and  stared  at  her. 
"What's  the  matter  with  you  this  evening,  Sunny 
Ducrow? "  he  asked. 

"  Matter  with  me?    Nothing! "  she  said.    *  Nothing! " 

But  there  was,  and  his  quick,  keen  eyes  had  seen  it; 
the  change  that  had  come  in  Sunny  Ducrow,  the  change 
of  which  she  herself  was  scarcely  aware  yet,  to  which  she 
herself  had  hardly  yet  awakened. 

"You  look — radiant !  "  he  said.  "  That's  the  only  word 
for  it!  I  thought  you  would  have  been  in  bed  half  the 
day  with  a  headache." 

"I've  been  in  the  country,"  she  said. 

"And  it's  done  you  good.    Who  did  you  go  with? " 

"The  Viscount,"  Sunny  said. 

"Huh!"  Curtiss  grunted.  "Better  hurry,  hadn't  you? 
You'll  get  your  call  before  you  know  where  you  are." 

She  wished  she  had  not  to  play  this  tragic  part  to- 
night; she  was  not  in  the  mood  for  it. 

378 


Just  a  Little  too  Fast  379 

"It  seems  like  I've  bitten  off  a  bit  more  than  I  can 
chew, "  Sunny  muttered.  "  But  it's  got  to  be  done,  only  I 
don't  feel  like  it  a  bit!  Last  night  it  was  different; 
to-day — "  She  paused. 

"Miss  Ducrow,  the  stage  waits!" 

"That's  done  it,"  Sunny  muttered.  "Now  for  battle, 
murder,  and  sudden  death!  " 

She  was  not  in  the  cue,  not  in  the  mood  for  it  to-night; 
she  knew  it.  She  was  fully  aware  that  it  was  going  flat; 
she  had  not  risen  to  the  heights  she  had  last  night,  the 
audience  would  be  disappointed. 

"I've  got  to  pull  myself  together!  Supposing  it  was 
someone  I  cared  about,  someone  I  loved,  and  was  treating 
badly?  Someone  I  was  playing  the  traitor  with,  and 
loved  all  the  time,  and  didn't  know  it?  Suppose  it  was 
Him — the  Vis-count,  Stanley!"  She  paused  in  her 
thoughts.  "Yes,  supposing  it  was  Stanley — "  She 
paused  again.  "Stanley,  and  I'd  betrayed  him  and  sent 
him  to  death  and  dishonor?  I'll  think  that,  of  him, 
Stanley!" 

The  audience  felt  distinctly  disappointed,  it  had  ex- 
pected more.  Sunny  Ducrow  was  not  a  tragedy  actress,  it 
was  foolish  of  her  to  attempt  what  was  beyond  her  powers. 

Then  the  audience  changed  its  mind.  Sunny  Ducrow 
was  a  tragedy  actress  after  all !  She  had  thrown  off  the 
lethargy,  she  had  answered  to  the  demand  on  her  strength, 
risen  to  even  greater  heights  than  last  night. 

"Wonderful,  marvellous!"  they  thought.  "And  she 
only  a  child,  really  only  a  child,  and  yesterday  playing 
little  parts  and  singing  pretty,  pretty  songs! " 

"Bert,  I  can't  stick  it,"  Sunny  gasped.  "I  can't,  I 
can't!  Not  twice  a  night  of  this.  I  can't  never  do  it. 
I've  bit  off  more  than  I  can  chew,  Bert! " 

It  was  over,  the  curtain  had  come  down,  and  Sunny- 
had  been  called  and  recalled  again  and  again. 


Sunny  Ducrow 

Now  she  was  leaning  against  the  wings,  faint  and 
white. 

"Bert,  I've  got  to  chuck  it.  I'm  not  up  to  it!  One 
day  I'll  do  it  all  right  and  a  bit  more,  but  two  doses  of 
this  every  night's  going  to  flatten  me  out." 

Bert  nodded.  "I  thought  the  same,"  he  said.  "You 
ain't  got  it  in  you,  Sunny!  " 

"Who  hasn't?  "she  cried. 

"Well,  you've  got  it  in  you  all  right,  but  I  mean  it's 
a  bit  too  much,  ain't  it?  " 

"That's  it!    It  fair  tears  me  all  to  pieces,  Bert! " 

He  nodded.  "So  it  does  me,  watching  you,"  he  said. 
"I'll  see  Curtiss  about  it." 

He  did;  he  had  a  long  talk  with  Curtiss,  and  Curtiss 
agreed. 

"We'll  take  it  off,  Jackson,"  he  said.  "It's  hard  luck 
on  you.  Either  we'll  take  it  off  or  we'll  get  someone  to 
take  her  part.  There's  Miss  Maltravers;  she's  out,  I 
believe,  and  she  ought  to  be  able  to  do  it  all  right.  I'll 
wire  her  and  find  out." 

But  when  Sunny  heard,  she  put  her  foot  down.  "No 
one's  going  to  play  it  but  me,"  she  said.  "I  can  do  it, 
only  it's  the  two  houses  a  night  that  knocks  me.  I  can't 
do  it  twice,  but  once  is  easy ! " 

"Then  only  play  it  to  the  second  house,"  Curtiss  said- 
"I'll  put  on  the  racing  sketch  for  the  first  house. " 

And  so  it  was  agreed. 


CHAPTER  LII 
"NO!" 

SUNNYVILLE  was  growing  surprisingly.  It  seemed 
to  Sunny  but  yesterday  that  it  had  been  fields  and 
bare,  bleak  ground,  and  now — the  little  red-and-white 
cottages  had  sprung  up  like  mushrooms  in  a  night.  Each 
with  its  little  garden  carefully  fenced  off,  each  with  big 
white  splodges  on  the  new  windows,  to  prove  that  they 
were  windows  and  not  merely  empty  air. 

The  factory  itself  was  growing  more  slowly,  with  more 
dignity,  as  befitted  a  building  of  its  size  and  importance. 
But  it  was  well  up  now;  the  roof  timbers  were  in  place, 
soon  it  would  be  covered  in,  and  then  the  boilers  would 
be  brought  in,  the  work  benches,  the  hundred  and  one 
things  necessary,  and  then  life  at  Sunnyville  would  begin. 

Sunny  was  there  every  day,  overlooking,  planning, 
arranging,  altering.  She  was  a  keen  and  clever  little 
business  woman,  she  had  a  good  head  for  figures,  yet  she 
did  not  seem  to  realize  that  twenty-five  thousand  pounds 
was  not  an  elastic  sum,  and  that  billiard-  and  reading- 
rooms,  swimming-baths  and  women's  meeting-rooms 
could  not  be  squeezed  out  of  nothing  at  all.  But  she  did 
her  best ;  she  put  her  heart  and  soul  into  it,  and  she  saw 
the  little  town  that  was  of  her  own  planning,  her  own  con- 
ceiving, growing  and  becoming  a  real  fact. 

Dobrington  motored  over  most  days,  but  between  him 
and  Sunny  there  had  fallen  a  constraint.  On  his  part  a 
nervous  awkwardness,  on  hers  a  shyness. 

381 


382  Sunny  Ducrow 

Side  by  side  they  would  go  over  the  ground,  looking 
at  this  thing  and  the  other,  yet  rarely  talking.  Some- 
times they  would  even  take  their  lunch  together  at  the 
little  old-fashioned  Plough  Inn. 

But  it  seemed  as  if  their  old  intimacy,  their  old  boy 
and  girl-like  friendship  was  a  thing  of  the  past,  as  if  it 
could  never  be  possible  again. 

Sunny  no  longer  rattled  on  to  him  and  told  him  all 
her  thoughts ;  she  was  silent  and  shy  in  his  presence. 

And  so  it  went  on;  the  red-and- white  cottages  were 
finished,  fires  had  even  been  lit  in  the  new  fireplaces  to 
help  dry  the  plaster  on  the  walls.  The  factory  roof  was 
on,  and  the  litter  of  building  had  been  cleared  away.  The 
great  copper  boiling-pans  had  been  brought  in,  and 
were  being  installed  in  place.  The  work  benches  where 
presently  the  girls  would  stand,  labelling  and  finishing 
and  tying  down  the  bottles  and  jars,  were  being  put 
up. 

Outside,  the  ground  was  being  cleared,  the  roadway 
being  made;  the  lines  that  were  to  link  Sunny ville  up  to 
the  railway  had  been  laid. 

In  a  very,  very  little  while  now,  Sunnyville  would 
wake  up  and  begin  to  live,  and  the  weary  Londoners  who 
worked  in  Cutway  Street  would  come  out  here  and  take 
possession  of  their  new  homes. 

Sunny 's  tragic  sketch  was  coming  to  an  end.  It  had 
been  successful,  perhaps  not  the  brilliant  success  she  and 
Bert  had  hoped  for,  but  at  any  rate,  it  had  not  been  a 
failure.  Night  after  night  the  house  had  been  packed  for 
the  second  performance,  to  see  it.  And  the  proof  that 
they  had  come  to  see  Sunny's  sketch  lay  in  the  fact  that 
the  first  house  was  doing  rather  bad  business.  But  it  was 
to  come  off.  Sunny  had  a  new  sketch,  something  lighter, 
prettier,  more  suitable  to  her.  Bert  had  thought  out  the 
idea  and  had  put  it  into  rough  form,  then  he  had  taken  it 


"  No ! "  383 

to  Watson  Welford,  who  was  well  known  as  a  play-writer, 
and  Welford  had  thought  well  enough  of  it  to  lick  it  into 
shape  and  to  put  those  finishing  touches  to  it  that  had 
been  absent  from  Bert's  first  sketch.  Sunny  was  rehears- 
ing it  now.  In  three  weeks  she  would  make  her  first 
appearance  in  Happy  Days,  by  Watson  Welford  and 
Albert  Jackson. 

The  tragedy  was  coming  off  next  week,  and  Sunny  was 
going  to  have  a  week's  holiday  by  the  sea  for  the  very 
first  time  in  her  life. 

"And  yet,  I  don't  feel  wonderful  as  if  I  wanted  to  go," 
she  said.  "I'd  hate  missing  even  a  day  here;  only  one 
thing,  it'll  be  such  a  difference  when  I  come  back  after  the 
week,  such  a  lot  of  this'll  be  done! " 

"There's  very  little  left  to  do  now,"  Dobrington  said. 
"I — I  shall  miss  you  that  week,  Sunny." 

"Yes,"  she  said.  They  stood  in  the  boiling-room,  or 
what  was  to  be  the  boiling-room  when  it  was  completed. 
The  workmen  had  all  gone,  the  big  boilers  were  in 
position.  There  was  very  little  more  to  do  here. 

"I  shall  miss  you  horribly  that  week,  Sunny,"  he  said 
again. 

"I'll  miss — you,"  she  said;  she  colored  as  she  spoke- 

"You — you  mean  that?"  he  said  eagerly. 

"  I  never  say  anything  what  I  don't  mean! " 

" I  know!"    He  caught  at  her  hand  suddenly. 

"Sunny,  every  day  that  I  don't  see  you,  I  feel  that 
there's  something  gone  out  of  my  life ;  do  you  understand, 
can  you  understand,  dear?  " 

"There's — there's  the  gas  mains  to  lay  yet,"  she  said 
nervously.  " I  told  Holts  about  it  yesterday;  they  ought 
to  be  in,  and " 

"Sunny,  listen!"  he  said.  "Sunny  dear,  listen  to  me! 
I  want  to  tell  you  something,  something  that's  been  in 
my  heart  for  weeks  now,  since  that  day  when  we  went 


384  Sunny  Ducrow 

together  to  my  old  home!  Sunny,  I've  thought  of 
the  swans;  there  shall  be  swans  on  the  lake  for  you, 
dear!" 

"I  didn't  have  no  right  to  say  anything  about  the 
swans!"  she  said. 

"You  had  a  right,  you  had,  because,  Sunny,  I  want  it 
to  be  your  home.  Sunny,  I  want  you  to  share  it  all  with 
me  one  day,  will  you?  Can  you  care  for  me,  just  a  little? 
I  love  you  so  much,  I  need  you  so  much ! " 

She  turned  to  him  slowly.  Her  face  had  flushed,  now 
it  had  gone  pale. 

"Hush!"  she  said.  "Hush!  You — you  just  like  me 
and  that's  all !  We've  been  good  friends,  Stanley — Just 
good  friends,  haven't  we?  And  we're  going  on  being 
good  friends!" 

"No!"  he  said  masterfully.  "Not  friends,  some- 
thing better,  closer,  dearer!  I  love  you,  Sunny!  Is  it 
hopeless,  could  you  never  grow  to  care  a  little  for  me?" 

She  turned  to  him  without  speaking,  but  he  saw 
something  in  her  eyes,  something  that  brought  a  cry 
to  his  lips. 

"Sunny,  you — you  do  care? " 

"I  care  so  much, "-she  said,  "so  much  that  I  know  it 
is — is  impossible.  I  remember  who  I  am,  what  I  was,  and 
what  I  am  now.  I  remember  who  you  are!  I  think  of 
your  mother  and  your  father  and  all — all  those  who  have 
their  pictures  hanging  up  in  your  home!  There  wasn't 
one  of  them  who  married  a  girl  off  the  stage,  or  out  of 
a  jam  factory,  I'll  bet!  "  She  laughed  a  little  huskily. 
"I'll  bet  Sir  What's-his-name  Alwyn,  who  fought  for 
King  Charles  the  First,  did  not  find  his  wife  in  a  jam 
factory!" 

"I  don't  care;  I  don't  care!"  he  said.  "They  are 
nothing  to  me.  They  lived  their  lives,  I  have  mine  to 
live;  and  it  needs  you,  Sunny!  There  is  no  other  woman 


"  No !  "  385 

in  all  the  world  who  can  take  your  place  with  me !  Either 
you  shall  be  mistress  there  one  day,  or  there  will  never  be 
a  mistress  there  at  all!" 

She  shook  her  head.  "It  just  isn't  possible,  Stanley, 
and  down  in  your  heart  you  know  it!"  she  said.  "If — 
if  you'd  only  been  plain  Mister  Dobson,  like — like  they 
thought  you  were  at  Epping  that  day,  it  would  be 
different,  but— but  as  it  is " 

He  caught  her  hand.  "Sunny,"  he  said,  "Sunny,  I 
love  you,  I  can't  let  you  go!  And  you?"  He  held  her 
hand  tightly,  he  forced  her  to  turn  to  him. 

"Sunny,  can  you  deny  it,  can  you  deny  that  you  care 
forme?" 

She  looked  him  fearlessly  in  the  eyes.  "I  don't  deny 
it!"  she  said.  "I — I  do  care  for  you  so  much  that  I'm 
not  going  to  spoil  your  life!  I'm  not  going  to  have 
people  laugh  about  you  and  say,  '  He  married  a  girl  out 
of  a  jam  factory,  he  did!'  I'm  not  going  to  break  your 
mother's  and  your  father's  hearts,  Stanley !  There  won't 
never  be  anyone  else  in  the  world  for  me;  but  you — you're 
different,  you're  a  man,  you're  young  yet,  scarcely  more'n 
a  boy,  aren't  you?  And  me,  I'm  only  a  girl,  come  to 
that  not  eighteen  yet,  Stanley,  and — and  we'll  get  over 
it  all  right,  I  expect!  " 

' '  I  never  shall !  I  shall  never  try !  I  will  wait  for  you ! " 
he  said. 

"You'll  alter  your  mind,"  she  said. 

"Never,  never,  never!  Try  me!  Wait!"  he  said. 
"Try  me!  In  a  year,  in  ten  years  it  will  be  the  same,  it 
will  be  only  you,  Sunny!" 

"You'll  be  married  to  someone  else  long  before  ten 
years,  and  have  forgotten  all  about  me,"  she  said;  "and 
it'll  be  better,  Stan,  better,  much  better,  dear!  " 

"Sunny,  you  mean,  you  mean  that  you  will  hold 
out  no  hope  to  me?"  he  cried.  "Other  girls  of 


386  Sunny  Ducrow 

the  stage  have  married  men  of  better  position  than 
mine!" 

"Perhaps!  "  she  said  softly.  "Perhaps  because  they 
didn't  love  them  as  much  as  I  love  you  and  think  about 
them  more'n  they  thought  about  themselves! " 

"I  shall  go  on  hoping,"  he  said.  "I  shall  still  hope. 
I  have  won  your  love,  darling,  and  that  is  the  greater  part 
of  the  battle!  I  shan't  give  in  now  or  ever !  Sunny,  will 
you? "  He  caught  her  suddenly  in  his  arms. 

"Only,"  she  gasped,  "only  this  once  and  then  never, 
never  again!  Nor  anyone  else,  either!"  she  added 
softly.  "But  only  this  once!"  And  then  she  lifted  her 
lips  to  his. 


CHAPTER  LIII 

AT    BRIGHTON 

"  T  CAN'T  'elp  it,  Elizabeth  Ann  Ducrow.    I  can't  'elp  it, 

1  reely.  Every  time  I  look  at  that  there  sea,  it  breaks 
my  'eart. " 

"Then  look  the  other  way,  old  dear!"  Sunny  said. 

Mrs.  Melkin  wiped  her  eyes. 

"It  was  very  thoughtless  of  you,  Elizabeth  Ann, 
knowing  'ow  the  sea  affected  me,  to  go  and  get  rooms  with 
winders  looking  out  on  the  sea  like  these  do !  Oh  dear,  oh 
dear,  how  it  do  take  me  back!  It  was  our  'oneymoon — " 
Mrs.  Melkin  burst  into  sobs  and  hurried  from  the  room. 

"Poor  dear!"  Sunny  said. 

"Sunny,  I  think  you  are  the  most  wonderfully  patient 
girl  I  ever  saw!"  Evelyn  said. 

Sunny  laughed.  "What's  the  use  of  getting  into  a 
temper?  You  only  say  things  that  you  feel  sorry  about 
afterwards.  Besides,  it  don't  hurt  me,  and  it  makes  her 
happy  to  be  miserable! " 

Evelyn  laughed.  "At  any  rate,  Sunny,  you  are  one  in 
a  thousand.  I  wonder  if  he  will  come  down!"  she  added 
thoughtfully. 

He !  Sunny 's  face  flamed  suddenly,  there  was  but  one 
He  in  her  thoughts. 

"He  won't  come,"  she  said — "he  couldn't,  he " 

"But  he  said  he  would.  To-day  is  Tuesday;  he  said 
Tuesday,  and " 

"Oh,  Bert ! "  Sunny  said.    "  I  forgot  Bert ! " 

387 


388  Sunny  Ducrow 

Evelyn  flushed.    "I  didn't!"  she  said. 

"Poor  Bert!"  Sunny  said. 

"Why  do  you  pity  him?  Why  should  you?"  the 
other  girl  cried.  ' '  Bert  isn't  to  be  pitied ;  he  is  very  clever, 
and  he  is  getting  on  splendidly!  He  will  give  up  acting 
altogether,  I  expect,  soon,  and 

"He  don't  act,  he's  just  himself  on  the  stage,  and  that's 
what  makes  him  look  so  funny,"  Sunny  said. 

"I  don't  think  you  are  kind — "  Evelyn  began. 

"There,  don't  get  angry!"  Sunny  said.  "I  didn't 
mean  nothing." 

She  ran  to  the  other  girl  and  put  her  arms  around 
her. 

" My  dear, "  she  said,  "Bert's  like  a  brother  to  me,  and 
you — you're  like  a  sister,  and  I'd  love  you  two  to  be 
happy  more'n  ever  I  could  say ! " 

Evelyn  flushed.    "Sunny,  you — you  mean  that?" 

"Of  course  I  do!" 

"And  you  don't  care  for  him  yourself? " 

"Of  course  I  do!"  Sunny  said. 

"I  mean " 

"Like  a  brother  or  a  pal — a  friend!"  Sunny  said.  "I 
care  lots  for  Bert.  Besides,  I'm  the  one  as  brought  him 
up.  Where'd  Bert  be  now  but  for  me  ?  He  didn't  want  to 
do  anything,  he  didn't!  The  pickles  was  good  enough 
for  him,  though  the  smell  of  the  vinegar  did  turn  him  a 
bit  now  and  again." 

"Oh,  Sunny,  Sunny,  I  don't  mean  all  that!  I  mean 
— "  Evelyn  flushed.  "Do  you  care  for  him  in — in 
that  way ;  do  you  care  for  him  so  much  that  you  want  to 
be  always  with — him?" 

"Me  always  with  Bert!  My  goodness,  no!  He'd 
worry  me  half  to  death,  he's  that  slow !  I  can't  never  get 
him  to  get  a  move  on,"  Sunny  said.  "Oh,  I  know  what 
you  mean  all  right,  Evy, "  she  cried.  "You  mean,  do  I 


At  Brighton  389 

want  to  marry  him?  Well,  I  don't!  It's  sort  of  true  in 
a  way  I'm  engaged  to  him." 

"Engaged  to  Bert?" 

"Well,  like  this:  me  and  him  didn't  think  there  was 
anyone  else  particularly  in  the  world,  and  we  thought  the 
best  thing  we  could  do  would  be  to  get  married  one  day. 
So  we  fixed  it  up  that  when  I  was  about  forty,  him  and 
me  'ud  get  married;  that's  in  about  twenty-three  years' 
time.  See?  So  there's  no  hurry !" 

Evelyn  laughed  happily.  "Then  you  don't  care  for 
him,  you  don't  want  to — "  She  paused. 

"Don't  want  to  cut  you  out?"  Sunny  said.  "No,  I 
don't,  not  me!  Only  what  a  girl  like  you,  a  girl  with 
your  looks,  can  see  in  Bert " 

"Bert  is  the  kindest,  simplest,  dearest  soul  on  this 
earth,  Sunny!"  Evelyn  cried. 

"  He's  simple  all  right,  and  he  wants  stirring  up;  you've 
got  to  keep  on  at  Bert  and  jog  him  now  and  again,  you'd 
do  it  all  right,  I  dare  say!  Evy  you're  too  good  for  him, 
but  for  all  that  I'd  love  to  see  you  and  him  married,  I 
would!" 

Evelyn  did  not  answer,  her  cheeks  glowed. 

"You  love  him,  you  do!"  Sunny  said.  "I  can  see  it 
in  your  face." 

"Yes,  I — I  care  for  him;  I  am  fond  of  him;  I — I  love 
him!"  the  other  girl  said. 

"Only  you're  asking  for  trouble,"  Sunny  said. 

"Trouble?" 

Sunny  nodded.  "You'll  never  get  Bert  to  speak;  he's 
that  shy  and  backwards,  he  '11  keep  you  waiting  years  and 
years  afore  he  gets  it  off  his  chest  that  he's  fond  of  you 
and  wants  you  to  marry  him!  That's  Bert,  he'll  beat 
about  the  bush  and  look  lots  and  won't  say  anything,  and 
now  and  again  he'll  have  a  pot  at  trying  to  say  it,  then 
he'll  get  stuck  half-way.  You  take  it  from  me,  Evy,  if 


390  Sunny  Ducrow 

you  want  to  marry  Bert,  it'll  be  you  as'll  have  to  ask  him." 
"Oh,  Sunny,  that  would  be  impossible!  " 
"It's  the  only  way,"  Sunny  said.     "Any  girl  who 
wants  Bert  has  got  to  think  it's  leap  year." 

The  two  girls  sat  at  the  window  of  the  sitting-room  on 
the  first  floor  of  a  house  in  King's  Road,  Brighton.  On 
the  pavement  below  them  sauntered  all  the  world  and  his 
wife.  Beyond  the  road  and  the  esplanade  shimmered  the 
sea,  flecked  with  the  golden  sunlight.  There  were  the 
piers  crowded  with  people,  for  the  Brighton  season  was  at 
its  height,  and  London  by  the  sea  was  full  just  now. 

It  was  a  wonderful  experience  for  Sunny.  She  had 
»een  the  sea  once  only  before  in  her  life,  years  ago  when 
she  had  been  a  tiny  child  and  had  spent  a  day  by  the  sea 
as  one  of  many  enjoying  a  Sunday-school  outing.  She 
had  remembered  it  for  years.  Those  hot  days  when  the 
boiling  vinegar  and  the  steaming  fruit  smelled  more 
strongly  than  usual,  when  the  hot  little  factory  in  Cutway 
Street  was  alive  with  wasps  and  the  heat  rose  from  the 
streets  outside,  when  her  head  and  eyes  ached  in  the 
broiling  heat  of  that  insanitary  factory  in  the  summer 
time;  Sunny  used  to  dream  of  the  wide,  cool,  blue  sea  she 
had  seen  once,  and  wonder  if  she  would  ever  see  it  again. 
And  now  she  was  here,  and  the  sea  lay  at  her  very 
door.  She  had  but  to  look  from  the  window  and  there  it 
was.  Last  night  she  had  awakened  suddenly  from  her 
sleep  and  could  not  bring  herself  to  believe  that  the  dull 
thunder  she  heard  was  really  the  sea  beating  on  the  pebbly 
beach.  Then  she  got  out  of  bed  and  ran  to  the  window 
and  drew  up  the  blind  and  sat  for  two  long  hours  watching 
the  sea  in  the  moonlight,  watching  the  little  boats  that 
drifted  now  and  again  across  the  path  of  the  moon,  to 
vanish  once  more  into  the  night. 

It  was  very  wonderful  to  this  London-bred,  London- 
reared  girl. 


At  Brighton  391 

"It's  wonderful,  that  sea,  isn't  it?"  she  said. 

Evelyn  nodded.  "Yes,"  she  said,  but  there  was  no 
enthusiasm  in  her  voice.  Her  people  had  been  fairly  well- 
to-do  in  the  old  days ;  nearly  every  summer  of  her  life  as  a 
child  she  had  spent  a  week  or  two  by  the  seashore.  To 
her  there  was  nothing  very  marvellous  in  the  sea. 

"It's  a  licker  where  all  the  water  comes  from!"  Sunny 
said.  "Where  it  comes  from  and  where  it  goes  to!  I 
was  thinking  land  wouldn't  be  half  so  dear  to  buy  if  there 
wasn't  any  sea,  would  it?" 

She  laughed  at  her  own  idea,  then  started.  "There  he 
is,  here's  Bert,"  she  said. 

It  was  Bert,  looking  awkward  and  ill  at  ease,  gawky  in 
a  new  and  not  too  well-fitting  suit  of  rather  loud  tweed. 
On  his  head  he  wore  a  Panama  hat,  which  he  believed  was 
the  correct  thing  for  the  seaside. 

They  heard  him  knock,  heard  him  enter  and  come  up 
the  stairs.  Sunny  rose. 

"Whatcheer,  Bert,"  she  said. 

"  Cheer-o, "  he  said.  "  How  are  you,  Sunny  ?  How  do 
you  do,  Miss  Cliff orde?  " 

"Miss  Clifforde!"  Sunny  said.  "Goodness,  why  don't 
you  go  and  give  her  a  kiss?  I  would  if  I  was  a  man,  and 
jolly  glad!  Well,  I'll  leave  you  two  to  talk!"  She  went 
out  of  the  room  and  went  to  her  own  small  bedchamber 
on  the  floor  above. 

She  laughed,  then  tried  to  laugh  again. 

"It's  all  right  between  those  two,"  she  thought. 
"They  are  lucky,  there's  nothing  to  stand  in  their  way, 
nothing!  They've  just  got  each  other.  Bert  is  getting 
0^  all  right,  he'll  do  well  one  of  these  days.  Anyhow,  he 
can  earn  a  goodish  bit  now,  and  the  sketch'll  be  a  success, 
and  there'll  be  more  to  follow!  It's  wonderful  how  he's 
picked  up  writing,  and  she — she's  pretty  and  good,  and 
she  loves  him.  Funny,  isn't  it?  A  girl  like  her  loving  a 


392  Sunny  Ducrow 

chap  like  Bert ;  but  you  never  know !  Come  to  that,  it's 
not  more  funny  than — a  man  like — him — Stanley  getting 
to  care  for  a  girl  like  me — a  girl  out  of  a  pickle  factory, 
and  him  a  lord  with  a  nice  home  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  I 
— oh,  but  that's  all  nothing!  It  don't  mean  anything. 
Anyhow,  I  haven't  got  to  think  about  it ;  it  couldn't  never 
be!  I  know  that,  and  he'll  get  to  know  soon,  if  he  don't 
know  it  now !  That  home  of  his,  that  there  park  with  the 
deer  and  things,  and  them  pictures  and — and  me — me, 
Sunny  Ducrow,  the  jam  factory  and —  She  laughed 
unsteadily.  "Enough  to  make  a  cat  laugh,  isn't  it?"  she 
muttered.  " Him  caring  for  me!  One  of  these  days  he'll 
laugh  when  he  gets  to  think  about  it! " 

She  sat  at  her  own  window  lost  in  reverie.  She  had 
never  hesitated  for  a  moment,  she  had  realized  how 
utterly  impossible  it  was.  She  had  keen  good  sense  and 
good  feeling. 

"It's  like  this,"  she  thought;  "he  loves  me  now  and 
thinks  as  I'd  be  everything  he  wanted,  thinks  I  could 
make  him  happy  and  all  that,  thinks  I'd  make  a  nice 
mistress  for  his  home.  But  it — it  wouldn't  last  for  ever ; 
after  a  time  he'd  get  to  realize  that  I'm  different.  I  don't 
belong  to  his  class !  He'd  see  his  friends  sneering,  per- 
haps, and  laughing  about  me  and  pitying  him;  you 
never  know.  Then,  bit  by  bit,  he'd  come  to  know  he'd 
made  a  mistake;  but  it  would  be  too  late  then,  nothing 
couldn't  put  that  mistake  right,  once  it  was  made.  Then 
he'd  be  sorry,  sorry  he  married  me — "  She  paused,  the 
tears  had  gathered  in  her  eyes.  "And  that,"  Sunny 
whispered,  "would  be  something  a  bit  worse'n  death!  If 
I  had  married  him  and  found  out  that  he  was  sorry  for  it, 
I  wouldn't  have  to  live;  I  couldn't!"  She  shuddered  a 
little.  "So  I  done  right,  and  one  day  he'll  know  it!" 

There  was  a  tap  on  the  door.  "  Miss  Ducrow,  are  you 
here?" 


At  Brighton  393 

"I'm  here  all  right!"  Sunny  said. 

"There  is  a  lady  waiting  to  see  you,  miss." 

4 '  A  lady  ?    Isn't  Miss  Clifforde  here,  and  Mr. " 

"  Miss  Clifforde  and  the  gentleman  have  gone  out,  and 
your  aunt,  Mrs.  Melkin,  is  lying  down;  she  says  she  is 
bad,  very  bad  and  upset,  it's  the  sea  that  upsets  her ;  and 
the  lady  is  waiting  to  see  you,  miss." 

' '  What  name  ? ' '  Sunny  asked.    ' '  It  must  be  a  mistake. ' ' 

"She  wouldn't  give  her  name." 

"Tell  her  I'll  be  down  in  a  minute, "  Sunny  said.  ' ' It's 
someone  collecting  for  some  children's  outing,  or  the 
Boy  Scouts,  or  something  else ! "  She  bathed  her  face  and 
tidied  her  rebellious  hair,  then  she  went  down  the  stairs 
and  opened  the  door  of  the  sitting-room. 

There  was  a  surprise  for  Sunny  in  store;  it  was  no 
collector  for  charity,  but  Lady  Blessendale! 

"Why,  I  didn't  expect,  I  didn't  know  you'd  know 
where  I  was,  my  lady!"  Sunny  said. 

"I  did  not  know  where  you  were,  but  I  thought  of 
a  means  of  obtaining  your  address,  Miss  Ducrow.  I 
got  it  from  Mr.  Curtiss  at  the  Realm,"  her  ladyship 
said. 

It  dawned  on  Sunny  slowly  that  her  ladyship's  manner 
was  not  so  friendly  as  of  old,  that  there  was  a  harder  look 
in  her  face.  Last  time  they  had  met  she  had  called  her 
Sunny,  now  it  was  Miss  Ducrow. 

"I  wished  to  see  you  particularly,  to  have  a  talk  with 
you,  so  I  motored  down  for  that  purpose,"  her  ladyship 
said 

"There — there  isn't  anything  wrong?"  Sunny  cried. 
"  I  mean  there's  nothing  wrong  with —  He — he  isn't  ill 
or— or " 

"If  you  refer  to  my  son,  there  is  nothing  wrong!  It  is 
just  to  prevent  something  being  wrong  that  I  am  here!" 
her  ladyship  said.  "To  prevent  something —  My  er- 


394  Sunny  Ducrow 

rand  is  a  difficult  and  unpleasant  one, "  Lady  Blessendale 
said.  "  You  are  a  clever  girl,  a  very  clever  girl — "  She 
paused,  there  was  an  unpleasant  suggestion  in  her  voice, 
the  look  in  her  eyes  was  very  far  from  being  friendly. 

"You  rendered  my  son  and  myself  a  great  service,  for 
which  I  was  deeply  grateful  to  you.  I  believed  at  that 
time  that  what  you  had  done  you  did  out  of  sheer  good 
will  towards  him,  and  perhaps  towards  me.  I  did  not  at 
that  time  dream  that  you  were  working  in  your  own 
interests." 

Sunny  opened  her  eyes,  but  she  said  nothing. 

"In  your  own  interests  you  saved  my  son  from  an  en- 
tanglement with  a  person  who — "  She  paused.  "I 
need  not  go  into  that.  I  tell  you  that  at  that  time  I 
thought  you  were  acting  as  his  friend,  my  friend,  only 
I  find  that  you  were  acting  solely  in  your  own  interests!" 

"I'd  like  to  begin  to  know  what  you  mean,"  Sunny 
said. 

"  My  son  has  confessed,  or  practically  confessed,  to  me 
that  he  has  fallen  deeply  in  love  with  you.  He  has  told 
me  that  one  day  he  took  you  to  our  home  in  the  country, 
that  he  showed  you  the  mansion  and  the  grounds,  of 
which  you  look  forward,  I  suppose,  to  being  the  mistress." 

"Who  told  you  that?"  Sunny  said. 

"No  one  told  me,  I  can  see  for  myself.  I  have  come 
to  put  the  matter  very  plainly  to  you,  Miss  Ducrow.  Do 
you  consider  yourself  fitted  to  become  wife  to  a  man  of 
my  son's  position  in  the  world?  " 

"No,  I  don't!"  Sunny  said. 

Her  ladyship  looked  surprised;  it  was  hardly  the 
answer  she  had  expected. 

"Then,  if  you  are  not  fitted  for  such  a  position,  why 
try  to  secure  it? "  she  said. 

Sunny's  face  had  gone  pale;  she  leaned  against  the 
table. 


At  Brighton  395 

"You've  said  what  you  mean;  you — you  mean  that 
I'm  trying  to  get  Stanley  for  myself,  that  I  only  got  him 
free  from  her,  that  other  woman,  so  that  I — I  might  many 
him  myself?" 

"That  is  what  I  am  now  forced  to  believe." 

41  You  said  just  now  that  I  wasn't  fit  to  be  his  wife,  you 
did!"  Sunny  said. 

"And  you  admitted  that  you  were  not!" 

"I  am  not.  I  never  said  I  was.  I've  always  said  I 
wasn't!  What  has  Stanley  told  you?" 

"Practically  nothing;  but  I  have  guessed.  I  have 
watched  him.  When  he  has  spoken  of  you  there  was 
something  in  his  voice,  something  in  his  manner,  that 
awakened  my  suspicions.  Little  by  little  I  have  satisfied 
myself  that  my  suspicions  were  correct;  you  have  saved 
my  boy  from  one  entanglement,  only  to  involve  him  in 
another,  Miss  Ducrow.  You  were  not  working  for  me  and 
for  him  when  you  saved  him  from  that  woman;  you  were 
working  only  for  yourself!" 

"And  Stanley's  told  you  nothing?" 

"Nothing!" 

"Well,  it's  a  pity  he  didn't, "  Sunny  said.  "It's  a  pity 
he  didn't,  then  you  wouldn't  come  here,  talking  like  this 
to  me !  It's  less  than  a  week  ago  that  Stanley  asked  me  to 
be  his  wife " 

"Asked  you?  Then — then  it  is  too  late!  He  has 
asked  you,  and  you,  of  course " 

"I,  of  course,  said  no,"  Sunny  said  quietly. 

"Said  no?" 

"  I  said  just  what  you  said.  I  told  him  that  a  girl  like 
me,  a  girl  who  had  to  earn  her  own  living  from  the  time 
she  was  hardly  able  to  walk,  a  girl  who  had  worked  in  a 
pickle  factory,  and  who  was  on  the  stage,  wasn't  fit  to  be 
the  wife  of  a  man  like  him.  I  told  him  that  I  couldn't 
never  be  mistress  of  such  a  place  as  his.  I  said  that  I 


Sunny  Ducrow 

wondered  what  all  those  fine  folk,  whose  portraits  are 
hanging  on  the  walls  there,  would  think  if  they  saw 
Sunny  Ducrow  come  there  as  mistress — Sunny  Ducrow, 
the  pickle  factory  girl!"  She  laughed  unsteadily.  "I 
told  him  that  I  could  see  it  all  just  as  plain  as  you  can.  I 
saw  how  impossible  it  was;  if  it  was  different,  if  he  was 
plain  Mister,  if  he  hadn't  a  penny  of  his  own  and  no 
family  and  nothing  in  the  world,  then — then — it  would  be 
different ! ' '  Her  eyes  glowed.  "  As  it  is — ' '  She  flung 
out  her  hands  suddenly.  "  I  told  him  all  that  you've  told 
me,  my  lady;  there  was  no  need  for  you  to  come  all  the 
way  here  and  tell  me  just  what  I  already  know." 

"Sunny  Ducrow,  let  me  understand  you!"  her  lady- 
ship said.  "My  son  Stanley,  my  son,  has  asked  you  to 
be  his  wife?" 

"Yes!" 

' '  And  you  refused  ? ' ' 

"Yes!" 

"Because  you  didn't  consider  yourself  to  be  a  fit  mate 
for  him?" 

"I  told  you  so.  That's  what  I  told  him;  he  didn't 
want  to  hear  me,  wouldn't  listen  to  me,  but  I  made  him! 
I  told  him  that  he  owed  it  to  others  as  well  as  himself, 
that  he  was  born  with  a  great  name  and  with  great  posses- 
sions, and  that  when  he  married  he  would  have  to  look 
among  his  own  people,  his  own  class;  he  couldn't  never 
marry  a  girl  out  of  a  pickle  factory !  " 

"You  told  him  that,  and  he " 

"He  had  to  listen,  he  had  to  understand  that  I  meant 
it,  every  word  of  it ! " 

"And  you,  of  course,  you  do  not  love  him? " 

Sunny  straightened  her  little  figure;  her  eyes  shone. 

" My  lady, "  she  said,  "if  I  didn't  love  him  as  much  as 
I  do,  I — I  might  have  said  yes  to  him.  It's  because  I  do 
care  for  him  that  I  said  no;  I  wasn't  going  to  be  the  one 


At  Brighton  397 

to  drag  him  down!  I  wasn't  going  to  be  his  wife,  the 
wife  that  one  day  he  might  be  ashamed  of ;  I'd  sooner  be 
dead  than  that !  I  told  him  it  was  impossible,  and  I  sent 
him  away ;  we'll  be  good  friends,  I  suppose.  But  he  won't 
never  ask  me  again  to — to  marry  him,  and  if  he  does  it'll 
be  the  same  answer!  So — so  you  see,  my  lady,  you 
needn't  have  come  all  this  long  way  in  your  motor-car  to 
see  me  and  tell  me  what  I  knew  already." 

Lady  Blessendale  rose;  she  held  out  her  hands. 

"Sunny, "  she  said,  " you  are  a  very  brave  and  generous 
and  good  girl!" 

Sunny  shook  her  head.  "  It  isn't  that,  it's  just  because 
I  am  a  coward! "  she  said. 

"A  coward,  you?" 

"A  coward;  because  I  was  afraid,  because  though  I 
loved  him  so  much,  though  I  would  have  married  him  if 
he  was  poor  and  nobody,  I  could  dare  anything,  but  I 
could  not,  dare  not  marry  him  and  risk  his  getting  to  be 
sorry  that  I  was  his  wife.  That  was  all.  It  wasn't 
because  I  was  brave,  my  lady,  it  was  just  the  other  way 
round,  it  was  because  I  was  afraid! " 

"Sunny,  I  am  very,  very  sorry.  I  have  done  you  an 
injustice,  a  great  injustice  in  my  anxiety  for  him  and  for 
his  future!  I  did  you  an  injustice,  child;  will  you  forgive 
me?" 

"  It  isn't  for  me  to  forgive  you,  my  lady, "  Sunny  said. 
"You  done  right,  you  were  thinking  of  him;  he  is  your 
son  and  you've  got  to  think  of  him;  if  a  mother  don't 
think  of  her  son,  who  will?  You  didn't  want  to  see  him 
marry  a  girl  like  me  so  his  friends  would  laugh  at  him 
and  sneer  at  me,  you  didn't  want  that,  nor  did  I !  You 
saw  it  all  just  as  it  might  be,  and  I  saw  it  all,  too,  and  I 
told  him;  he  wouldn't  believe,  but  he'll  get  to  know  it's 
true  one  day." 

Lady  Blessendale  held  Sunny 's  hand  very  tightly. 


398  Sunny  Ducrow 

"I  want  to  thank  you,  dear,  but  I  do  not  know  how," 
she  said.  "You  are  a  wonderful  girl,  you  have  such 
understanding,  such  good  sense;  you  are  so  honorable, 
so  true!  I  wish  there  were  others  like  you,  I  wish  that 
Stanley  could  find  some  girl  of  his  own  class  just — just 
like  you!  Sunny,  I  am  a  proud  woman.  I  come  of  an 
old  family.  I  have  married  into  a  family  still  older. 
My  son  will  inherit  a  great  name  and  title,  and  one  day 
he  must  marry ;  but  when  he  marries  he  must  find  a  wife 
from  among  his  own  kind,  a  wife  as  well  born  as  he,  one 
fit  to  take  the  dignity  of  his  name  on  her  shoulders. 
I  could  wish  from  my  heart,  dear,  that  you  could  be  that 
girl.  I  could  wish  that  you  came  of  a  good  family;  your 
poverty  would  matter  nothing,  it  is  blood  that  tells. 
Sunny,  you  have  set  my  mind  at  rest.  I  feel  easy  and 
hopeful  now  for  the  future.  When  I  came  here" — she 
paused,  her  high-bred  face  flushed  a  little — "I  will  tell 
you  frankly,  child,  that  it  was  in  my  mind  to  offer  to  buy 
you,  to  offer  you  money  to  let  him  off.  I  feel  ashamed 
now  to  think  of  that,  ashamed  that  I  understood  you  so 
ill!  You  see,  child,  I  have  been  frank  with  you.  I  want 
your  forgiveness ! " 

"There  is  nothing  to  forgive,  you  are  his  mother," 
Sunny  said;  "he's  got  to  be  your  first  care,  and  I — I 
understand !  I  feel  about  it  just  the  same  as  you  do,  so — 
so  it's  all  over  and" — she  laughed  unsteadily — "there's 
no  harm  done,  nor  ever  will  be! " 

"There  would  be  very  little  harm  done  in  this  world, 
child,  if  all  women  were  as  you  are!"  her  ladyship  said. 
She  put  her  arms  around  Sunny  and  kissed  her. 

"God  bless  you,  my  dear,  and  may  you  one  day  find 
a  great  happiness,  may  you  be  always  the  brave,  happy, 
successful  little  woman  that  you  are  now.  And,  Sunny,  I 
shall  always  number  you  among  my  best  friends." 

She  was  gone,  and  Sunny  went  to  the  window  and 


At  Brighton  399 

watched  the  large  touring  car  roll  away  down  the  King's 
Road.  Her  ladyship  turned  and  looked  back;  she  saw 
Sunny  standing  there,  and  waved  her  hand,  and  then  she 
was  gone. 

"And  that,"  Sunny  whispered,  "that  puts  the  lid  on 
it ! "  She  stood  there  for  ten  minutes,  then  she  heard  her 
aunt  moving  about  in  the  adjoining  room,  and  she  hurried 
out,  up  to  her  own  room. 

"She — she's  right,  and  I'm  right,  and  he's  wrong," 
Sunny  muttered.  "  If  only — only  he'd  been  plain  Mister 
and  nobody,  if  only — "  And  then  she  flung  herself 
down  on  her  bed  and  buried  her  face  against  the  cool 
pillows.  "If  only " 


CHAPTER  LIV 

AT   SUNNYVILLE 

IT  was  perhaps  a  mere  coincidence,  or  possibly  Mr. 
Johnson  knew  something  about  it,  but  it  chanced  to 
be  on  Sunny's  eighteenth  birthday  that  the  fires  were 
lighted  for  the  first  time,  and  the  familiar  smell  of  heating 
vinegar  and  boiling  jam  became  noticeable  in  the  new 
John  Crow  Works. 

It  was  on  this  day,  too,  that  a  procession  of  furniture 
vans  came  down  the  street  through  Havers,  and  dumped 
beds  and  bedding,  furniture,  cooking  pots,  baths,  canary 
birds,  and  other  articles  of  household  furniture  in  the 
little  new  red-and-white  cottages. 

Sunnyville  had  awakened,  it  had  come  to  life;  the 
new  inhabitants  of  Sunnyville,  who  had  lived  their  lives 
among  bricks  and  mortar,  and  had  seen  a  green  field  on 
rare  occasions  in  their  lives,  had  come  out  here  into  the 
country. 

And  it  was  her  doing,  through  her!  Sunny  knew  it; 
they  knew  it.  Mr.  Johnson  and  all  the  rest  of  them 
knew  it.  And  the  best  of  it  all  was  that  all  this  happened 
on  her  eighteenth  birthday. 

She  was  eighteen  to-day,  eighteen !  At  this  age  most 
girls  are  just  waking  up  to  life,  just  beginning  to  realize 
that  there  is  something  else  in  life  besides  school  and 
play.  Sunny,  on  her  eighteenth  birthday,  could  look  on 
a  little  village  and  a  thriving  industry  that  was  practically 
all  of  her  own  making.  And  she  had  other  successes,  too, 

400 


At  Sunnyville 

she  was  having  a  great  success  at  this  moment  in  Bert's 
new  playlet,  which  was  partly  play  and  partly  revue, 
Watch  the  Clock. 

Bert,  in  a  new  suit,  with  a  green  felt  hat  on  his  head, 
and  a  large  cigar,  with  the  band  still  on  it,  put  his  hands 
in  his  pockets  and  watched  the  arrival  of  the  furniture  vans. 

"Wonderful,"  he  said,  "wonderful  it  is,  Sunny!"  He 
sniffed.  "Law,  don't  that  smell  of  vinegar  take  you 
back?"  His  eyes  glistened.  "Reminds  you  of  when  we 
was  earning  eight  bob  a  week,  don't  it,  in  Cutway  Street, 
and  me  getting  leathered  most  nights  of  my  life  by  father. 
Oh,  those  days!" 

"They  had  their  uses,  like  most  days  have,"  Sunny 
said.  "Looking  back,  Bert,  I  don't  regret  nothing! " 

"Nor  I!"  he  said.  "There's  nothing  to  regret.  We 
didn't  seem  to  start  life  with  much  of  a  chance,  Sunny, 
yet  here  we  are;  at  least,  here  you  are!  Boss  here,  pretty 
well!" 

"I'm  not, "  Sunny  said.    "I'm  only  a  shareholder ! " 

"Well,  it's  something  to  go  on  with!" 

"And  you,  Bert,  you've  not  done  so  dusty,"  Sunny 
said.  "You're  making  money,  you  are  now!" 

"  A  bit ! "  he  said.  "But  I'm  going  to  make  more.  I'm 
going  to  write  a  play  with  Welford.  I'm  full  of  ideas,  and 
he  can  do  the  writing.  Between  us  we're  going  to  do  the 
biggest  play — "  Bert  talked  enthusiastically,  for  some 
time,  of  the  future.  Then  he  suddenly  became  quiet. 
Evelyn  had  joined  them,  and  in  Miss  Clifforde's  presence 
Bert  Jackson  had  nothing  to  say  for  himself. 

"  I  suppose  the  next  thing, "  Sunny  said,  "is  that  you'll 
be  thinking  of  getting  married,  Bert?" 

Bert  grunted. 

"Do  you  remember  me  and  you,  our  idea  of  getting 
married  once ? "  Sunny  said.    She  laughed  gaily.    "When 
I'm  forty,  Bert,  and  you're  forty-three!" 
26 


402  Sunny  Ducrow 

"I  remember  something  about  it,"  Bert  said.  He 
looked  at  Evelyn  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eyes  and,  seeing 
that  she  was  looking  at  him,  his  eyes  dropped,  so  did  his 
cigar.  He  stooped  and  picked  it  up  and  wandered  away. 

"It's  no  good!"  Sunny  said.  "It's  you'll  have  to  ask 
him,  Evy ;  he  gets  scared  out  of  his  life  every  time  he  sees 
you  coming!" 

"I — I  begin  to  think  he  doesn't  care  for  me  at  all!" 
Evelyn  said. 

"Rot!"  Sunny  said. 

"If  he  did,"  the  other  girl  hesitated,  "if  he  did,  he 
would  understand  that  I — I  want  him  to — to  say  some- 
thing; but  he  never  speaks,  he  never  suggests  even  that 
he  cares  anything  at  all  for  me!" 

"Nervous,  that's  what  it  is!"  Sunny  said.  "You'll 
have  to  ask  him  yourself!" 

"I  never  shall!"  Evelyn  said.  "I  would  sooner  die 
and  live  an  old  maid!" 

"You  can't  do  both!"  Sunny  said. 

" I  don't  believe  he  cares!"  Evelyn  said.  " I've  got  to 
think  that  he  doesn't  care  for  me  at  all!  If  he  did — " 
She  paused ;  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes  and  she  turned 
away.  Mr.  Johnson  had  come  out  and  was  going  to  show 
her  over  the  new  works  and  explain  how  it  was  all  done. 

Sunny  had  put  her  little  nose  into  every  cottage,  had 
passed  the  time  of  day  with  all  the  women  there,  had 
hung  up  three  or  four  pairs  of  curtains,  and  had  helped  to 
put  up  some  pictures.  She  had  done  a  dozen  and  one 
different  things  and  now  she  was  tired. 

Where  was  Bert?  She  found  him  presently,  mooning 
about  by  himself,  his  banded  cigar  still  unlighted  between 
his  teeth. 

"I've  been  leaving  Bert  alone  for  too  long!"  Sunny 
thought.  "He  wants  me  to  wake  him  up  again!" 

"Hello!  "she  said. 


At  Sunnyville  4°3 

"Hello!"  Bert  said.  "Wonderful,  isn't  it,  that  smell 
of  vinegar?"  He  sniffed.  "You  can  get  it  here;  smell 
it?" 

"Yes,"  Sunny  said. 

"Takes  you  back,  don't  it?"  Bert  said. 

"You've  said  that  before,"  Sunny  said. 

"  Well,  I'll  say  it  again;  takes  you  back  to  the  old  days, 
don't  it?" 

Sunny  looked  at  him.  Bert  exasperated  her;  she  was 
fond  of  him  and  loyal  to  him.  It  was  she  who  had  lifted 
him  out  of  the  ruck  and  put  him  on  his  feet  and  started 
him  in  life.  It  was  she  who  had  made  him.  But  for  her 
Bert  would  still  be  earning  perhaps  fifteen  shillings  a 
week  in  the  boiling-room. 

"And  it'll  be  like  that  always!"  she  thought.  "Bert 
wants  stirring  up  all  the  time,  he's  got  to  be  shook  up ;  if 
he  isn't,  all  that's  good  and  worth  anything  in  him  settles 
to  the  bottom  and  stops  there!" 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  Sunny  ? "  he  asked. 

"A  friend  of  mine,"  Sunny  said. 

' '  Who's  that  ? "  Bert  twisted  the  unlighted  cigar  about 
in  his  mouth. 

"Like  the  taste  of  it?"  Sunny  asked. 

Bert  grunted. 

"Why  don't  you  light  it?" 

"It  'ud  burn  up  if  I  did;  I  like  to  keep  it  by  me, "  he 
said.  ' '  Who's  the  friend  you're  thinking  about  ? ' ' 

"A  girl,  a  dear  friend  of  mine,  one  I'm  very  fond  of; 
she's  going  to  be  married!" 

"'Oois?"  Bert  asked. 

"She  is,  this  girl,  this  girl  friend  of  mine;  she's  going 
to  get  married  pretty  soon,  I  believe!" 

"Not— not — not  Evelyn?  Not  Miss  Clifforde?" 
Bert  gasped.  "She's  your  friend,  the  only  one  you're 
thick  with;  it — it  isn't  her,  Sunny?" 


404  Sunny  Ducrow 

"I  don't  say  it  isn't  and  I  don't  say  it  is, "  Sunny  said. 
"It's  a  secret,  I  haven't  any  right  to  tell  you!" 

"But  say  it  isn't  her!"  Bert  gasped.  The  cigar  fell  to 
the  ground  and  he  inadvertently  put  his  foot  on  it.  He 
stooped  and  picked  it  up  and  brushed  it  clean  on  his 
sleeve  and  put  it  back  into  its  resting-place. 

"Sunny,  say  it  isn't  Evy!" 

"Well,  it  is,  if  you  want  to  know!"  Sunny  said. 

He  frowned,  his  face  whitened,  his  mouth  sagged  open, 
and  down  went  the  cigar  again. 

"Leave  it  there,  for  goodness'  sake!"  Sunny  said  ex- 
asperatedly.  She  put  her  small  foot  on  it  and  crushed 
it  into  the  earth,  and  Bert  stood  helplessly  looking  on. 

"Yes,  it's  Evy,  and  I  hope  you're  glad!"  she  said 
viciously. 

"Her — going  to  be — be  married?"  Bert  gasped.  He 
seemed  to  stagger,  he  had  turned  white,  almost  green. 

"Lovely  that  vinegar  smells,  doesn't  it?"  Sunny  said. 
"Takes  you  back  like  you  said;  you  remember  those  days 
in  Cutway  Street  when " 

"Who — who's  the  chap?"  Bert  demanded. 

"Oh,  a  sloppy  sort  of  fellow!"  Sunny  said.  "A  chap 
I  haven't  much  liking  for!" 

"I'll  kill  him!"  Bert  said.    He  clenched  his  fists. 

"What  for?  Whatever  for?  What  harm  has  he  done 
you?"  Sunny  demanded. 

"Harm  done,  harm!  He's  going  to  marry  that  girl, 
the  only  girl  I— I " 

"Hold  up!"  Sunny  said.  "Bert,  hold  up;  you're 
sickening  for  something,  aren't  you?  What's  this  poor 
chap  ever  done  that  you  should  want  to  kill  him?" 

"That  doesn't  matter,"  Bert  said.  "You  tell  me  hip 
name,  tell  me  his  blessed  name;  I'll  find  him  and — and — 
and " 

"You  don't  mean  to  say,"  Sunny  cried — "Bert  Jack- 


At  Sunnyville  405 

son,  you  don't  mean  to  say  you're  in  love  with  Evy 
yourself?" 

He  nodded  hopelessly. 

"And  how  long  have  you  been  in  love  with  her?" 

"Monse'and  monse!"  he  groaned  miserably. 

"And  you  never  told  her,  never  said  a  word? " 

"I  tried  to,  tried  hard  about  fifty  times,  but — but  I 
couldn't  get  it  out!  Every  time  almost  I've  seen  her 
I  meant  to  tell  her  and — and  then  she  just  looked  at  me 
with  those  eyes  of  hers " 

"She  couldn't  look  at  you  with  her  ears!"  Sunny 
said.  "Goon!" 

"Well,  she  looked  at  me  with  her  eyes,  she  did,  and  I 
— I  dried  up,  couldn't  get  out  a  word,  Sunny,  straight!" 

"And  meanwhile  this  other  chap  came  along,  and 
while  you  were  acting  the  goat,  he  asked  her,  I  suppose!" 
Sunny  said. 

"I  wish  I  was  dead!"  Bert  said.  "I  wish  to  goodness 
I  was  dead!" 

"And  a  fat  lot  of  good  that  would  do  you!"  Sunny 
cried.  "Instead  of  being  dead,  why  don't  you  wake  up 
and  get  a  move  on  you?  Here  have  you  been  wasting 
weeks  and  months  loving  a  girl  and  being  too  silly  to  tell 
her  so!" 

"I  ain't  good  enough  for  her!" 

"Of  course  you're  not,  no  man's  ever  good  enough  for 
any  woman,  come  to  that,  except — some!"  Sunny  added 
softly.  "  And  some  are  too  good  for  some  women !"  She 
paused. 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about!"  Bert  said. 

"Nor  do  I!"  Sunny  answered. 

"All  I  know,"  Bert  said,  "is,  I  wish  I  was  dead!" 

"  Don't  that  vinegar  smell  lovely  ? "  Sunny  said.  "Oh, 
here's  Evy ! ' '  Evelyn  was  coming  towards  them.  "  Hold 
up  Bert,"  Sunny  whispered.  "She  might  chuck  him 


406  Sunny  Ducrow 

over  and  give  you  a  chance  yet  if  you  will  only  pull  your- 
self together  and  try  and  be  a  little  man.  Hold  up, 
Bert,  hold  your  head  up  and  keep  smiling.  No  girl's 
married  till  she's  somebody's  wife!" 

Evelyn  came  towards  them.  "What  are  you  two 
talking  about?  I've  been  hunting  the  place  for  you 
both!"  she  said.  "The  car  will  be  round  soon  and  we 
shall  have  to  get  back,  Sunny!" 

" I  know, "  Sunny  nodded.  "I've  just  been  talking  to 
Bert,  telling  him  about" — she  paused — "your  approach- 
ing marriage!" 

"My — approaching  marriage?"  Evelyn  cried. 

Bert  groaned  audibly.  He  stooped  and  picked  up  the 
battered  ruins  of  his  cigar;  he  took  the  band  off  and  put  it 
round  his  little  finger  and  admired  it,  as  though  it  was  a 
new  engagement  ring. 

"Yes.  I've  been  telling  Bert  about  your  getting 
married  soon  to  that  chap,  that  silly  sort  of  chap !"  Sunny 
said. 

"Oh,  Sunny!" 

"And  Bert's  been  asking  what  his  name  is,  and  says 
something  about  killing  him!"  Sunny  said.  " So  I  didn't 
tell  him  his  name.  I  don't  believe  in  encouraging  people 
to  commit  suicide! " 

Bert  blinked  at  her.    "I  don't  understand." 

"You  never  understand  anything!  You  didn't  ought 
to  be  out  unless  you  are  in  a  perambulator, "  Sunny  said. 
"I'll  tell  you  the  name  of  the  silly,  weak-headed  chap  Evy 
is  going  to  be  married  to!  I'll  tell  you  in  secret;  come 
here!"  She  lifted  her  hand  and  took  him  by  the  ear;  she 
dragged  him  down  to  her  level. 

"The  name  of  that  silly,  sloppy  chap  is  Bert  Jackson! " 
she  said.  "Now,  I'll  leave  you  to  talk  it  over  with  her ! " 

Sunny  turned  and  hurried  away;  looking  back  for  an 
instant,  she  saw  Bert  and  Evy  facing  one  another.  Then 


At  Sunnyville  407 

suddenly,  without  warning,  Bert  collapsed  on  to  his  knees 
on  the  miry  ground. 

"Oh,  Bert,  Bert,  do  get  up!"  Sunny  heard  Evy  cry. 
''Bert,  think  of  your  new  trousers! " 

But  Sunny  did  not  stay  to  observe;  she  hurried  away. 

"He's  like  pickles  himself,"  she  muttered.  "He's  got 
to  be  jarred.  When  they  are  married,  Evy  will  have  to 
keep  him  woke  up  all  the  time,  and —  Oh!"  Sunny 
gasped.  She  had  hurried  round  the  corner  of  the  factory 
building  and  run  straight  into  someone  coming  in  the 
opposite  direction.  The  someone  was  Dobrington! 

"I — I'm  sorry,"  Sunny  said. 

"And  I  am  glad!"  he  said.  "Sunny,  I  haven't  seen 
you  for  weeks!" 

She  tried  to  laugh,  but  failed.  It  had  been  her  fault; 
purposely  she  had  avoided  him;  she  had  denied  herself  at 
the  theatre  five  or  six  times  to  him.  She  had  twice  passed 
him  in  the  street  because  she  knew  she  could  not  yet 
trust  herself,  because  she  meant  to  be  true  to  herself  and 
to  his  mother  and  to  him. 

"Sunny,  I've  been  longing,  longing  for  a  sight  of  your 
sweet  face,"  he  said. 

"Can't — can't" — Sunny  paused — "can't  you  smell  the 
vinegar  wonderfully  from  here?"  she  said.  " It's  started 
in  real  earnest,  the  John  Crow  factory,  and  it's  going 
to  make  all  our  fortunes!  "  She  laughed  a  little  hysteri* 
cally. 

"There's  only  one  fortune  that  I  want,"  he  said;  "and 
I'm  going  to  make  that,  win  it  if  it  takes  me  all  the  years 
of  my  life!  You  know  what  it  is,  Sunny?  " 

She  looked  him  straight  in  the  eyes.  "Yes,  I  know; 
but  you  will  never — never  succeed!"  she  said. 

' '  I  shall ! "  he  said .  "I  shall !  Sunny ,  why  haven' t  you 
seenmelately ;  why  wouldn't  you  let  me  come  to  see  you  ?  " 

"  I— I  don't  know,"  Sunny  said.    "  I  don't  know." 


408  Sunny  Ducrow 

"But  I  do!"  he  said.  "And  I  will  tell  you  why,  dar- 
ling; it  was  because  you  love  me,  because  you  know  how 
much  I  love  you,  because  you  dread  that  your  love  should 
prove  stronger  than  your  foolish,  stupid  scruples.  You 
were  afraid  that  love  would  win,  and  love  shall,  must,  and 
will  win,  Sunny!" 

Sunny  shook  her  little  head;  her  face  was  very  pale 
and  very  resolute.  "It's  never  going  to  be,  Stan,"  she 
said.  ' '  It  can't  be,  and  you  know  it  can't !  You've  got  to 
marry  in  your  own  class;  your  mother  and  your  father 
look  to  you  to  do  that,  and  they — she  does,  anyhow — look 
to  me  to — to  play  the  game,  Stan,  and  I'm  going  to  play 
the  game,  all  the  time!  And — and — "  She  paused, 
her  voice  broke  a  little.  "And,  Stan,  I'm  going  to  hold 
up  my  head  and  keep  on  smiling,  keep  on  smiling! " 


CHAPTER  LV 

THREE  LETTERS 

MORNING,  Porkey! "  Sunny  said  cheerily. 
Porkey,   the  keeper  of  the  stage-door  at  the 
Realm,  grinned  a  welcome.     "Three  letters,  Miss  Du- 
crow, "  he  said. 

He  was  a  very  small,  thin  man,  with  a  nervous,  hesita- 
ting manner. 

"Three  letters  for  me,  and  all  at  once!  Law,  there's 
been  a  rush  on  postage  stamps  for  me  lately,  Porkey! " 
Sunny  said. 

"It's  nothing  to  what  some  of  the  young  ladies  get, 
miss.  Ahem!"  Porkey  hesitated  and  coughed.  "I 'ope 
as  Mrs.  Melkin  is  well, "  he  said. 

Sunny  looked  at  him.    ' '  You  know  her,  then  ? ' ' 

"I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Mrs.  Melkin 
several  times;  she  has  called  here  now  and  again.  But, 
according  to  orders,  I  have  not  been  allowed  to  let  her 
pass.  On  them  occasions,"  Porkey  went  on,  "she  done 
me  the  honor  to  stop  and  pass  a  few  words  with  me — 
a  highly  nervis,  cultivated  lady,  miss!  " 

"She's  got  a  sad  nature,"  Sunny  said.  "She's  never 
thoroughly  happy  unless  she's  having  a  good  cry." 

"Sensitive,"  Porkey  said.  "Very,  miss — a  highly 
strung  lady!" 

Sunny  took  her  letters  to  her  dressing-room.  She 
turned  them  over,  the  writing  on  the  envelope  of  one 
was  very  familiar;  she  opened  it  first. 

409 


410  Sunny  Ducrow 

"DEAR  SUNNY,— Perhaps  I  should  say,  Dear  Miss 
Ducrow;  if  you  can  spare  me  half  an  hour,  I  wish  you 
would  run  round  and  have  a  talk.  I  think  I  could  put 
something  in  your  way  that  might  suit  you. — Yours 
sincerely,  MAX  HEMMINGWAY.  " 

"Wants  me,  does  he?"  Sunny  thought.  "Well,  he 
ain't  a  bad  sort.  I'll  go  and  see  him;  not  that  I'm  in  no 
hurry  to  make  a  change  neither." 

She  opened  the  next  letter. 

It  was  written  on  the  note  paper  of  a  well-known  club. 

"Mv  DEAR  Miss  DUCROW, — You  may  remember  that 
I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  at  Blessendale  House. 
It  is  my  most  earnest  desire  that  the  acquaintanceship 
then  begun  should  ripen  into  friendship.  May  I  hope  to 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  again  in  the  near  future?" 

"  'Oo  is  it?"  Sunny  muttered;  she  turned  the  letter  over 
and  looked  at  the  signature.  "Robert  Doveton." 

"Oh,  'im! "  Sunny  said.  "I  remember  'im;  chap  with 
a  long  nose  and  hair  parted  down  the  middle,  and  black 
on  'is  eyelashes.  What's  he  want?" 

"  It  would  give  me  great  pleasure  if  you  would  do  me 
the  honor  of  taking  supper  with  me  to-night.  I  shall, 
in  the  hope  of  seeing  you,  be  outside  the  Realm  stage- 
door. — With  kindest  regards,  yours  very  sincerely, 

"ROBERT  DOVETON." 

"Law,  that  chap!"  Sunny  said.  She  flung  the  letter 
aside.  She  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  taking 
supper  with  anyone,  least  of  all  with  a  young  man  she 
had  seen  only  once  and  felt  no  admiration  for.  Two 
minutes  later,  Sunny  forgot  his  existence. 


Three  Letters 

"The  Duchess  of  Lulham  presents  her  compliments 
to  Miss  Sunny  Ducrow — "  ("  Does  she?"  Sunny  thought. 
"Bless  her  old  face,  what's  she  want?")  "And  would 
like  to  see  Miss  Ducrow  to  tea  one  day  this  week,  and 
the  sooner  the  better." 

"Well,  that's  straight,  anyhow!"  Sunny  muttered. 
"Going  to  tea  with  a  duchess,  arst  out  to  supper  with  a 
baronit,  and  Hemmingway  running  after  me  for  a  job, 
I  s'pose !  Law,  looks  like  my  time  being  filled  up !  Well, 
I  think  I'll  go  round  and  see  Max!" 

Twenty  minutes  later,  Sunny  was  shown  into  Mr. 
Hemmingway's  office.  He  rose  and  held  out  his  hand 
in  a  very  friendly  manner. 

"It's  good  to  see  you  again,  Sunny!"  he  said.  "And 
you've  been  doing  pretty  well  for  yourself,  except  that 
tragedy  stunt.  Sunny,  take  it  from  me,  leave  the  tragedy 
out  of  it  till  you  are  twenty  years  older." 

"By  then,  I  expect  I'll  have  enough  tragedy  of  my 
own  to  go  on  with, "  Sunny  said. 

"I  dare  say,  you  never  know!  Well,  how  are  you  fixed 
up  with  Barstowe?" 

"I'm doing  that  sketch  of  Bert's  and  What's-his-name's 
and  it's  going  pretty  well;  it's  good  stuff.  Bert's  got  a 
play  in  hand;  he's  coming  on  all  right  as  a  playwriter. 
He's  took  my  advice  and  he's  writing  his  next  play  on 
his  own." 

"He  had  the  making  of  a  good  actor  in  him,"  Hem- 
mingway said.  "However,  the  fact  is,  I  want  to  talk 
to  you  about  our  next  production.  It's  going  to  be  a  big 
thing.  Are  you  tied  down  by  any  agreement?" 

"  Not  after  the  end  of  the  month, "  Sunny  said.  "  But 
I  don't  know  about  leaving  Barstowe,  he's  been  awful 
good  to  me." 

"Still,    I   fancy   you   owe   me   something,    Sunny," 


4I2  Sunny  Ducrow 

Hemmingway  said.  "I  mean  I  gave  you  your  first 
chance,  didn't  I?" 

"  That's  right  enough,  and  I'd  be  here  now  if  it  wasn't 
for  old  Rosenbloomer.  How's  he?" 

"Oh,  he's  all  right ! "  Hemmingway  said  shortly.  "Well, 
he  won't  interfere  in  this  matter,  Sunny.  I  want  you  for 
lead  in  this  new  thing ;  it's  by  Lesserton,  and  the  music  by 
Posetti.  Dinsmore  and  Lesserton  are  doing  the  scenery, 
and  the  dresses  are  by  Valenciennes  and  le  Blanc." 

"And  ice-creams  by  Signer  Hokeypokerino,"  Sunny 
said.  ' '  I  know,  go  on ! " 

Hemmingway  flushed  and  laughed.  "Well,  it's  a  big 
thing  anyhow,  Sunny,  and  I  want  you  in  the  part;  it  is 
cut  out  for  you.  No  tragedy,  my  girl,  but  a  smart,  lively 
part  with  three  ripping  songs,  and  you'll  go  like  hot  cakes. 
Now,  what  do  you  say  to  discussing  it? " 

"What's  the  terms? "  Sunny  asked. 

Hemmingway  hesitated.  "You  mercenary  little 
wretch!  It'll  be  a  chance  in  a  lifetime  for  you  playing 
lead  at  your  age;  how  old  are  you?  " 

"Just  gone  eighteen,"  Sunny  said. 

"Just  gone  eighteen,  and  playing  lead  in  a  leading 
London  theatre;  why,  hang  it,  you  ought  to  pay  me 
instead  of  my  paying  you!" 

"  I'm  not  in  it  for  my  health !  "  Sunny  said.  "What's 
the  terms?" 

Hemmingway  hesitated.    "Forty!  "  he  said  briefly. 

"  Nothing  doing ! "  Sunny  said.  "Sorry,  but  I'm  doing 
pretty  well  as  good  as  that  already.  Besides,  you  don't  get 
a  leading  lady  in  a  big  thing  like  this  for  forty,  do  you?" 

He  laughed.  "No,  I  don't;  but  I  thought  it  would  be 
doing  you  a  turn." 

"What  you  want,"  Sunny  said,  "is  a  row  of  iron  rail- 
ings, a  hall  door,  and  no  curtains  to  the  windows,  and 
you'd  be  a  philanthropic  institution." 


Three  Letters  413 

"What  terms  do  you  want? " 

"A  hundred!"  Sunny  said  briefly. 

Hemmingway  lifted  his  hands  in  the  air.  "And  only 
just  gone  eighteen! " 

"And  for  that  reason  it  ought  to  be  two  hundred; 
you  can  get  lots  of  old  women  to  play  it,  and  they  have 
to  make  up  to  look  young !  Me,  I'm  young,  and  people 
know  it,  and  that  helps!" 

"  I'll  make  it  sixty,  Sunny ! "  Hemmingway  said.  "  It's 
a  fearful  lot  of  money,  Sunny,  and  what  you'll  do  with 
it  I  don't  know!" 

"Oh,  I  do  all  right,"  Sunny  said.  "I  want  to  start  a 
girls'  club  at  Sunnyville,  and  they  say  they  ain't  got 
enough  money  towards  building  it,  so  I  decided  I'd  build 
it  myself  and  put  a  piano  in  it.  I'll  want  all  I  can  get." 

"Sixty,  then!"  Hemmingway  said. 

Sunny  shook  her  head.  "We'll  split  the  difference 
and  make  it  eighty." 

He  sighed.  "All  right,  then!"  he  said.  "You'll  sign 
a  contract?" 

"After  I've  seen  Barstowe.  I'm  not  going  back  on 
him!" 

"But  Barstowe  will  stand  in  your  way  and  mine! " 

"I  can't  help  that,"  Sunny  said.  "Barstowe's  been 
decent  to  me,  and  I'm  going  to  play  the  game  with  him; 
and  one  thing,"  she  added,  "if  I  come  back  here  I  won't 
have  old  Rosenbuster  interfering  with  me! " 

"I  promise  you  he  shall  not,  and  a  contract  is  a  con- 
tract; if  you  have  a  contract  for,  say,  three  years " 

"I'll  think  about  it;  meanwhile,  I'll  see  Barstowe." 

"  He'll  stand  in  your  way ! "  Hemmingway  said. 

"Not  him,  he  won't!"  Sunny  said.  "He  isn't  built 
that  way.  Barstowe's  a  gentleman,  he  is,  and  a  decent 
•ort;  me  and  him  are  friends." 

"I  don't  know  how  you  managed  it,  considering  he's 


4*4  Sunny  Ducrow 

the  most  difficult  man  in  London,"  Hemmingway  said. 
"But  you  are  a  wonder,  Sunny!  I'll  have  the  contract 
drawn  up  ready;  when  will  you  be  in? " 

"To-morrow,"  Sunny  said.  "What's  the  name  of 
the  play?" 

"The  Lady  Detective,"  Hemmingway  said. 

"Don't  sound  much!  "  Sunny  said. 

"  It's  a  ripping  play,  a  scream,  I  tell  you.  You'll  make 
the  success  of  your  life;  the  part's  simply  you! " 

"All  right.    I'll  see  Barstowe." 

Sunny  went  out ;  on  the  stage  she  met  Rostheimer. 

"If  it  ain'd  Sunny  Ducrow!  "  he  said. 

"Pleased,  aren't  you?  "  Sunny  said. 

"Soh  delided,"  he  said.  He  held  out  a  large,  soft, 
moist  hand.  "  I  been  saying  all  der  time,  '  Hemmingvay, 
it  a  bity  dat  you  send  avay  dat  little  Sunny;  she  is  der 
girl  for  us!'" 

"He  didn't  send  me  away,  it  was  you!"  Sunny  said 
directly.  "Don't  you  go  and  get  wrong  ideas  in  your 
head.  He's  talking  about  me  coming  back,  and  if  I  come 
back  I  come  back,  and  don't  put  up  with  no  interference ! " 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"  He  laughed  jovially.  "Always  der 
same,  always  der  same  bride  little  Sunny;  und  ain'd  you 
grown  too?  "  he  added. 

"'Oo  has?"  Sunny  asked. 

"Why,  you  haf — grown  more  und  more  lofely  as 
ever!" 

"Oh,  go  and  eat  coke!  "  Sunny  said. 

It  was  not  the  way  to  speak  to  the  financial  power 
behind  the  management,  but  Rostheimer  took  it  in 
good  part.  Nothing  could  ruffle  his  good  temper  and 
equanimity. 

"Veil,  I  hobe  we  see  you  here  again  bretty  soon!" 
he  said.  "Good  luck  und  good-bye!" 

"After  shaking  hands  with  him  I  feel  as  if  I  want  a 


Three  Letters  415 

nice  hot  bath  with  heaps  of  soda  in  it! "  Sunny  thought 
as  she  hurried  away. 

Barstowe  was  not  in,  would  not  be  at  the  theatre  at 
all  to-day;  there  was  a  farmer's  conference  or  something, 
Curtiss  informed  her. 

"So  you  can't  see  him,  Sunny.  Is  it  anything 
particular?" 

" Pretty  particular  for  me, "  Sunny  said.  "I've  got  an 
offer." 

"Offer  of — of — "  Curtiss  went  a  little  white  about 
the  mouth. 

"Offer  of  eighty  pounds  a  week, "  Sunny  said. 

"Oh,  I  thought  you  meant — "  Curtiss  paused 
"Well,  you're  not  bound  to  Barstowe  after  this  month." 

"I  am,"  Sunny  said,  "bound  in  honor;  if  he  wants 
me  I '11  stay  on!" 

"But,  my  dear  girl!" 

"  That's  all  right ! "  Sunny  said.  "I  know  my  business. 
I  don't  believe  in  turning  down  them  as  has  done  you  a 
good  turn.  Barstowe's  been  a  good  friend  to  me.  I'd 
hate  myself  if  I  treated  him  mean  now." 

"You're  a  funny  girl! "  Curtiss  said. 

"A  scream,  aren't  I?"  Sunny  said.  "But  I  can't 
'elp  it ;  I  was  built  that  way !  What's  the  time  ? " 

"One!"  Curtiss  said. 

"Come  and  'ave  some  lunch.  I'm  going  to  the  A.  B.  C. 
Coming?" 

He  screwed  up  his  face.  He  hesitated.  "All  right! " 
he  said.  "  But  why  not  come  to " 

"A.  B.  C.'s  good  enough  for  me! "  Sunny  said.  "  There 
or  nowhere;  fact  is,  I'm  going  to  have  tea  with  a  duchess, 
and  if  I  have  a  lot  of  lunch  I  shan't  be  able  to  eat  much 
tea,  and  it'll  hurt  her  feelings." 

Curtiss  laughed.  He  did  not  for  a  moment  believe  that 
Sunny  was  taking  tea  with  a  duchess,  it  was  hardly  likely. 


Sunny  Ducrow 

Twice  or  three  times  as  they  made  their  way  to  the 
nearest  Aerated  Bread  Company's  shop  he  looked  at  her. 
When  they  were  seated  at  one  of  the  little  tables  at  the 
back  of  the  shop,  and  being  waited  on  by  one  of  the  girls, 
he  still  looked  at  her. 

"Roll  and  butter  and  cup  of  coffee  for  me,"  Sunny 
said. 

Curtiss  sighed. 

"Have  a  poached  egg? " 

"Yes,  anything,  I  don't  care;  toast,  tea,  anything!" 
Curtiss  waved  his  hand. 

"Seem  upset!  "  Sunny  said. 

He  nodded.  "Sunny,  do  you  remember — "  he 
paused. 

"There's  heaps  of  things  I  remember!"  she  said 
brightly.  "And  some  things  I  like  to  remember  and 
some  things  I  don't.  There's  something  I  like  to  re- 
member, but — but  it's  just  the  same — same  now  as  it  was 
then!" 

"Look  here,  Sunny!"  he  said;  he  leaned  across  the 
table  towards  her.  "I'd  give  you  a  good  time,  I'd  make 
you  happy!" 

"I  know!"  she  said.  "I  know  you  would,  you'd  do 
your  best;  but — but  it  isn't  going  to  be,  it  can't  be! " 

"There's  that  other?" 

"There's  no  other!"  Sunny  said. 

A  brighter  look  came  into  his  face.    "I  thought — " 

"It  don't  matter  what  you  thought,  there's  no  other!" 

"Then,  Sunny,  why  not  listen  to  me?  You  know  I 
love  you — "  He  paused.  The  girl  had  set  the  poached 
egg  down  before  him.  He  waited  till  she  went  away. 

"Sunny,  you  know  I  love  you " 

"I  shouldn't  take  sugar  along  with  your  poached  egg, 
if  I  was  you ! "  Sunny  said.  "  That's  the  salt  in  that  little 
pot  thing  there!" 


Three  Letters 

"It  doesn't  matter  to  me,"  he  said.  "I  don't  care! 
Sugar  or  salt,  it's  all  one  to  me! " 

"  It's  no  good,  Arthur, "  Sunny  said  seriously.  "  It's  no 
good.  There  isn't  many  I  like  as  much  as  I  do  you,  but 
it — it  can't  be!  That's  all  about  it,  it  just  can't  be!" 
Her  voice  caught  for  a  moment.  ' '  You  don't  understand, 
more  don't  I,  perhaps,  only  I  know  it  can't  be! " 

' '  All  right, ' '  he  said.  ' '  All  right !  I  didn't  give  up  all 
hope;  I've  clung  to  .hope  all  through,  Sunny.  I  suppose 
I'll  make  a  fool  of  myself,  and  go  on  hoping  just  the 
same.  I'll  ask  you  again  one  day,  Sunny.  I'll  still 
cling  to " 

"That's  the  salt  you're  putting  into  your  tea  now," 
Sunny  said. 

" Bother,  it  doesn't  matter, "  he  said.  "It's  all  one.  I 
shall  wait — I  am  content  to  wait,  there's  no  hurry;  I  shall 
never  change, "  he  said. 

Sunny  slid  out  her  hand  across  the  table  to  him. 
"Nor  shan't  I,  Arthur,"  she  said.  "It's  no  good,  I  like 
you  better'n  I  like  almost  anyone  else,  but — but  it  just 
can't  be,  see?" 

He  nodded.  "All  the  same,  I'm  not  going  to  give  up 
hope, "  he  said.  "  I  hope  you'll  change  your  mind,  women 
have  been  known  to  change  their  minds,  Sunny! " 

"I  shan't,"  she  said.    "Never  shall!" 

"But  there  is  no  other?    You  said  so." 

"There's  no  other  now,  there  was" — Sunny  paused — 
"There  might  have  been,  only  it  could  not  be,  you  see! " 

"Dobrington?"  he  said  shortly. 

Sunny 's  face  flamed.  "Yes,  I  ain't  ashamed;  it  might 
have  been  Dobrington,  only  it — it  isn't  and  never  will  be, 
well,  because  it  can't  be,  you  understand?  And — and, 
Arthur,  that's  the  sugar  you're  putting  on  your  egg  again." 


CHAPTER  LVI 

THE   LOVE   STORY  OF  A  DUCHESS 

THE  little  Duchess  advanced,  she  took  Sunny  by  the 
hand  and  she  pecked  her  cheek  twice. 

"I'm  glad  you  came,  I  thought  perhaps  you  wouldn't, 
but  you  have." 

"I'm  here,"  Sunny  said.  "I've  got  your  letter,  I 
thought  you  wanted  me  to  come." 

"So  I  did.    We'll  sit  down!" 

It  was  a  huge  room,  and  very  magnificent.  Her  Grace 
looked  a  small  and  mean  person  set  in  the  midst  of  her 
proud  possessions. 

"Sit  down,"  she  said  sharply. 

Sunny  obeyed. 

Her  Grace  rang  the  bell.  "Tea,"  she  said  to  the 
immense  footman,  "and,  Perkins " 

"Your  Grace?" 

"Perkins,  if  any  callers  come,  inform  everyone  that  I 
am  out!" 

"Yes,  your  Grace!" 

"That's  all  right,"  her  Grace  said,  when  Perkins  had 
gone  out.  "I'm  going  to  talk  to  you,  Sunny  Ducrow!" 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair.  "  Rather,  I  should  say," 
she  went  on,  "it  is  you  who  are  going  to  talk  to  me, 
Sunny  Ducrow." 

"What  am  I  to  say?"  Sunny  asked. 

"Tell  me  about  yourself,  about  your  life,  exactly  what 
you  have  done,  and  all  the  rest  of  it." 

418 


The  Love  Story  of  a  Duchess 

"  There  is  a  great  deal  to  tell, "  Sunny  said. 

"Tell  it,"  her  Grace  said  impatiently.  "Talk,  that's 
why  I  asked  you  here  to  talk  to  me,  amuse  me! " 

Sunny's  color  rose,  she  began  to  feel  angry;  then  she 
altered  her  mind.  There  was  something  about  the  little 
gray  old  woman  that  touched  her,  that  in  some  way 
aroused  a  sense  of  pity.  She  had  no  right  to  pity  a 
duchess  at  all,  but  there  it  was. 

"Well,  where  shall  I  begin?"  she  said. 

"You  can  begin  where  you  like.  Where  did  you  live, 
how  did  you  manage;  you  were  very  poor,  I  suppose? " 

"  Hadn't  a  shoe  to  my  foot,  and  my  only  dress  was  all 
rags.  Aunt  had  worn  it  out  before  it  came  to  me, ' '  Sunny 
said.  "  I  remember  the  trouble  I  used  to  have  to  keep 
my  shoes  on,  tied  'em  up  with  string — "  She  paused. 
"Sometimes,  when  I  heard  an  organ  playing  in  the  street, 
I'd  forget  and  start  to  dance,  and  then  I'd  lose  both  shoes. 
Once  one  of  the  boys  picked  one  up  and  ran  off  with  it, 
and  I  had  to  hop  after  him.  But  I  caught  him  all  right." 

"Go  on,"  her  Grace  said. 

"I'm  going  on,"  Sunny  said.  "I'm  telling  you — " 
She  paused.  The  footman  came  in  with  the  tea  on  a  silver 
tray.  He  placed  it  on  a  little  table. 

"That's  all,  you  can  go,"  her  Grace  said.  "Sunny 
Ducrow,  pour  out  the  tea." 

Sunny  poured  it  out,  she  began  to  feel  at  home;  while 
she  poured  out  the  tea  she  talked. 

"I  had  to  go  to  school,  of  course;  if  I  didn't  the  In- 
spector would  have  been  after  aunt — and  how  many 
lumps?" 

"Three,"  her  Grace  said. 

"Same  for  me,  when  I  can't  get  four,"  Sunny  said. 
She  rattled  on,  and  the  old  woman  listened.  Sunny  told 
of  life  in  the  pickle  factory,  told  of  her  small  beginnings, 
and  how  gradually  and  with  luck  she  worked  her  way  up. 


420  Sunny  Ducrow 

"And  now, "  she  said,  "now,  I've  had  an  offer  of  eighty 
pounds  a  week  to-day!" 

"A  Cabinet  Minister's  salary,"  her  Grace  said.  "And 
I  dare  say  quite  as  well  earned,  if  not  better!" 

"But  I  don't  know  if  I  shall  take  it  yet,  it  depends  on 
Barstowe. " 

"  Who's  Barstowe?" 

Sunny  opened  her  eyes.  "Barstowe  of  the  Realm," 
she  said.  "You  don't  know  him?" 

"No,  who  is  he?    And  why  does  it  depend  on  him? " 

Sunny  explained. 

"So,  though  you  are  not  bound  by  any  agreement  with 
him,  yet  you  will  consider  him  before  accepting  such  a 
fine  offer?" 

"Of  course, "  Sunny  said. 

"You  are  a  curious  girl!  Unusually  honest,  I  should 
say!" 

"Nothing  to  write  home  about, "  Sunny  said.  "If  one's 
honest,  one's  just  honest  and  you  can't  help  it,  can  you  ?" 

"No,  I  suppose  not — and  so — so  you  are  going  to 
marry  Dobrington?" 

Sunny  started,  she  sat  bolt  upright.  "I'm  going  to  do 
no  such  thing, "  she  said  sharply. 

"But  he  loves  you!" 

"Who— who  told  you? " 

"I  didn't  need  telling.  I  saw  it,  it  was  very  apparent. 
He  worships  the  ground  you  walk  on,  Sunny  Ducrow!" 

"Anyhow,"  Sunny  said.  "I  am  not  going  to  marry 
him!" 

"Why  not?" 

"Because — oh,  because  it  is  impossible! " 

"Why  is  it  impossible? " 

Sunny  stood  up.  " Because, "  she  said,  "because  he  is 
Viscount  Dobrington  and  I'm  Sunny  Ducrow.  that's  why 
it  is  impossible!" 


The  Love  Story  of  a  Duchess    421 

Her  Grace  looked  at  her.  "Explain, "  she  said.  "Is  it 
the  difference  in  your  rank  that  you  mean? " 

"Of  course,  the  difference  between  us  in  every  way! 
I'm  not  in  his  class.  His  mother  would  break  her  heart, 
his  father  would  have  fits;  besides,  he'd  be  miserable  after 
a  time — his  friends  would  turn  against  him  and  laugh  at 
him!" 

"Rot,"  her  Grace  said. 

Sunny  started.  "But  it's  true,"  she  said.  "A  man 
can't  marry  beneath  him;  if — if  he  found  out  afterwards 
he'd  made  a  mistake " 

" He  wouldn't,  you're  too  clever  for  that;  you'd  keep  a 
man's  heart,  Sunny  Ducrow,  always  and  for  ever.  I 
fancy  that  a  man  who  loved  you  once  would  love  you 
always,  and  consider  the  world  well  lost  for  you! " 

' '  But — you ! ' '  Sunny  gasped.    ' '  You  are ' ' 

"The  Duchess  of  Lulham,"  the  old  lady  said.  "And 
I  know  what  I  am  talking  about.  I  am  an  old  woman, 
a  very  old  woman  and  a  little  tired.  I  have  seen  many 
things,  and  I  can  see  with  far  clearer  eyes  than  you  can. 
I've  seen  the  shams  of  this  world,  I've  seen  the  lies,  the 
subterfuges,  the  pretences,  till  I  am  tired  of  them.  I 
have  seen  young  men  and  young  women  marry  because 
they  happened  to  move  in  the  same  circles,  and  I  have 
seen  them  pass  from  mere  boredom  to  sheer  hatred  of 
one  another.  I  have  seen  all  that  and  a  great  deal  more. 
And  I  have  learned  one  thing,  old  woman  that  I  am,  I 
have  learned  that  rank  and  riches,  titles,  and  Norman 
blood,  go  for  nothing  when  put  in  the  balance  against 
honest,  honorable  love." 

Sunny  gasped.  This  from  a  duchess,  this  from  her 
Grace,  it  sounded  like  rank  heresy ! 

"  I'll  tell  you  something, "  her  Grace  paused.  "  I  was  a 
poor  girl,  my  father  was  a  curate  in  a  little  village.  He 
had  six  children,  four  sons  and  two  daughters,  of  which  I 


422  Sunny  Ducrow 

was  the  elder.  We  had  less  than  a  hundred  pounds  a  year 
to  live  on,  and  we  were  almost  as  shabby  as  you  were, 
Sunny.  And  then,  one  day,  there  came  into  my  life  a 
man  of  rank  and  position,  infinitely  above  the  rank  of 
Dobrington.  This  man  loved  me  and  I  loved  him.  He 
asked  me  to  be  his  wife  and  I  thought  then,  as  you  think 
now,  Sunny.  I  thought  that  the  time  might  come  when 
he  would  regret  having  married  a  poor  girl,  a  girl  of  lowly 
position  and  of  no  birth. 

"I  hesitated,  my  father  thought  with  me;  he  was  a 
most  unworldly  man.  But  in  the  end  my  lover  won,  he 
made  me  his  wife — "  She  paused.  "Thank  God!"  she 
whispered.  "Thank  God,  he  made  me  his  wife!  It  is 
fifty  years  ago  now,  Sunny.  For  thirty  years  I  was  the 
happiest  woman  on  this  earth,  for  thirty  years  I  held  his 
love  and  made  him  happy.  He  never  regretted,  he — he 
blessed  the  day  when  he  took  me  from  my  little  country 
home.  He  died  in  my  arms,  blessing  me  and  thanking 
God  for  our  happiness — "  She  paused;  the  tears  were 
in  her  eyes,  they  rolled  down  her  face.  She  went  to 
Sunny  and  put  her  arms  around  her. 

"Child,  that  is  the  lesson  I  wanted  to  teach  you,  that 
is  why  I  sent  for  you ;  put  love  first.  Dobrington  is  a  good, 
true,  honest  lad.  It  is  the  man  himself,  not  his  name,  nor 
his  birth,  not  his  title,  nor  his  friends.  Consider  him,  only 
consider  him  and  his  love  for  you,  your  love  for  him.  It 
is  the  advice  of  an  old — old  woman,  a  woman  who  has 
known  the  best  and  greatest  happiness  that  this  world 
can  give;  don't  miss  it,  Sunny,  don't  lose  it! " 

"You — you  mean  it?"  Sunny  whispered.  "You 
mean  it?"  She  put  her  arms  around  the  old  lady  and 
clung  to  her.  "You  mean  it,  you  think  that  I " 

"I  know  he  loves  you,  and  he's  a  good  lad;  his  love  is 
worth  the  having!  Take  it,  keep  it,  cherish  it,  hold  his 
love!  And — and  now  give  me  another  cup  of  tea,  with 


The  Love  Story  of  a  Duchess    423 

only  two  lumps  in  it  this  time,  if  you  please,  Sunny 
Ducrow!" 

"But — but  his  mother?"  Sunny  said.  "His  mother, 
She  asked  me,  and " 

"Norah  Blessendale  is  a  fool!  She  has  not  had  the 
experience  I  have  had.  She  knows  nothing;  she  married 
because  she  was  told  it  was  her  duty  to  marry.  Fortu- 
nately for  her,  she  has  never  realized  what  love  is  and  what 
love  means.  There  are  other  women  of  her  position  who 
married  as  she  married  and  then  came  afterwards  to  learn 
that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  love.  Those  are  the  women 
who  have  suffered.  Norah  Blessendale  wants  to  spoil  her 
son's  life,  Sunny;  don't  let  her,  don't  let  her! —  The 
tea's  overdrawn,  ring  the  bell  and  order  some  fresh  to  be 
made.  I  can't  drink  overdrawn  tea." 


CHAPTER  LVII 

AN  INVITATION 

TTHERE  was  a  color  in  Sunny's  cheeks,  a  brightness 
1  and  a  new  happiness  in  her  eyes.  The  old  lady  was 
right,  must  be  right.  She  spoke  out  of  her  great  expe- 
rience ;  she  had  loved,  had  married  into  a  rank  far  above 
her  own,  and  she  had  been  happy.  Sunny  remembered 
what  she  had  said.  ' '  He  died  in  my  arms  blessing  me  and 
thanking  God  for  our  happiness."  And  she  and  he  might 
have  missed  those  thirty  years  of  happiness  if  she  had 
acted  as  Sunny  had  intended  to  act. 

"She  is  right,  I  am  sure  she  is  right!"  Sunny  thought. 
"  Love's  the  best  thing  in  the  world! " 

That  night  Sunny  played  her  part  as  she  had  rarely 
played  it  before.  She  seemed  to  be  the  very  essence  of 
life  and  fun  and  happiness.  She  won  her  audience's 
hearts;  the  curtain  came  down  on  Bert's  little  sketch  to 
thunderous  applause. 

"She's  right,  she's  right!"  Sunny  thought.  "I— I 
know  she  is  right,  and  I  was  wrong  and  his  mother  is 
wrong!" 

Soon — soon  she  would  see  him  again  and  then,  if  he 
asked  her,  spoke  to  her,  she.  would  tell  him  all  that  the  old 
lady  had  told  her.  She  would  open  her  heart  to  him,  tell 
him  everything;  tell  him  how  she  loved  him;  how,  because 
she  loved  him  so  much,  she  was  willing  to  give  him  up, 
believing  it  would  be  for  his  own  good.  But  if  he  loved 
her —  If  he  loved  her — and  she  knew  he  did. 

424 


An  Invitation  425 

"Good-night,  miss,"  Porkey  said. 

"Good-night";  Sunny  gave  him  a  radiant  smile  and 
went  out,  walked  out  almost  straight  into  the  arms  of  a 
young  man  who  was  waiting  there  for  her. 

"You  had  my  letter?" 

Sunny  started.    "Oh,  it's  you, "  she  said.    ' '  I  forgot ! " 

"Really,  too  bad,  don't  you  know!"  Doveton  said. 
"You  had  my  letter,  eh,  Miss  Ducrow?  I've  booked  a 
table  at  the " 

"What  for?" 

"For  supper  to-night!"  he  said. 

"Well,  why  don't  you  go  and  get  your  supper  instead 
of  staying  here  in  the  cold?" 

"But  you  are  coming  with  me,"  he  said.  "Oh,  I  say 
come;  you  know  you'll  come;  say  you'll  come! " 

"Look  here,  don't  make  any  mistake!"  Sunny  said. 
"I'm  not  coming  with  you;  I  never  go  to  supper  with  no 
one,  and  if  I  did  it  would  only  be  with  a  friend,  a  real 
friend,  someone  I  know." 

"  But  I  am  your  friend ! "  he  said.  "  Sunny,  I  am  your 
friend!" 

"  My  name's  Ducrow  to  you ! "  she  said.  "And  you're 
not  my  friend,  I  only  met  you  once." 

"  Don't  be  silly ! "  he  said.  " Come!  "  he  tried  to  take 
her  arm. 

"Hands  off!  "  Sunny  said. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said.  "I  say,  Miss  Ducrow,  do 
be  kind  to  me,  you  don't  know  how  awfully  I  admire 
you!" 

"Well,  you  can  pay  half  a  crown  and  get  a  good  seat," 
Sunny  said.  "Only  I've  no  time  to  supper  with  no  one, 
so  good-night!" 

"Stay!"  he  said.  "Stay  a  moment;  I  say  you  don't 
mean  it,  you  will  come? " 

"No,  not  me,  and  good-night!"  Sunny  said. 


426  Sunny  Ducrow 

"  Miss  Ducrow, "  he  implored,  "I've  arranged  a  ripping 
supper,  booked' a  table,  and " 

" I'm  not  coming,  now  nor  never ! "  Sunny  said.  "And 
I  don't  go  out  with  strangers,  nor —  Good-night,  I'm 
going  home!" 

He  bit  his  lips.  "Then  allow  me  to  call  a  cab  for 
you, "  he  said. 

"Oh,  all  right,  if  you  like! "  Sunny  said. 

It  seemed  to  be  an  easy  way  of  getting  rid  of  him. 
She  walked  with  him  to  the  pavement  in  the  busy  main 
street.  He  hailed  a  cab. 

"Where  shall  I  tell  him? "  he  asked. 

Sunny  gave  her  address.  He  opened  the  door  for  her, 
then  turned  to  the  driver. 

"The  El  Dorado,"  he  said,  "quickly!" 

Another  moment  and  he  had  sprung  into  the  cab  after 
Sunny  and  slammed  the  door,  and  the  cab  started. 

"What— what's  this?"  Sunny  cried.  "What  does 
this — mean — why  ? " 

He  laughed.  " It's  all  right !"  he  said.  "I've  booked 
the  table,  you  know.  Sit  down  like  a  dear  girl  and " 

He  thrust  her  back  and  she,  looking  through  the 
window,  saw  for  one  moment  a  face,  the  face  of  a  man  on 
the  pavement,  and  that  man  was  Dobrington ! 


CHAPTER  LVIII 

TWO  ENGAGEMENTS 

"X/OU'LL  just  stop  this  cab  this  minute, "  Sunny  said. 

I  "Oh  come,  don't  be  silly,  you'll  enjoy  yourself. 
I've  booked  the  table,  you  know;  it's  all  right,  eh?" 

"  It  isn't  all  right,  I  won't  say  just  what  I  think  of  you 
for  playing  a  trick  on  me  like  this;  you'll  stop  the  cab  now 
directly,  quick,  see!" 

"Come,  come  be  a  dear,  sensible  girl;  you  don't  know 
how  I  admire  you,  and  I  want  awfully  to  talk  to  you, 
don't  you  know ;  and  I  say  for  goodness'  sake  don't  make 
a  scene  when  we  get  there,  or  it  will  be  in  all  the  papers, 
don't  you  know!" 

"I  ain't  a-going  to  make  a  scene  when  I  get  there, 
because  I'm  not  going  to  get  there,"  Sunny  said.  "I'm 
going  to  make  the  scene  now!"  She  rose,  she  stretched 
out  her  hand  to  tap  on  the  window  to  call  the  driver's 
attention,  but  he  gripped  her  arm. 

"Come,  don't  be — "  he  began,  and  then  he  got  the 
surprise  of  his  life.  Who  could  ever  have  dreamed  that 
there  was  such  strength  in  that  slender  little  body. 
One  wrench  and  she  had  freed  her.  arm  from  his  grip, 
she  gave  him  a  violent  thrust  that  sent  him  back  on  to 
the  seat,  and  then  she  rapped  loudly  on  the  window. 
The  driver  turned. 

"Stop!"  Sunny  shouted. 

"Silly  little  fool!"  the  young  man  growled.     "Hang 

427 


428  Sunny  Ducrow 

it,  a  good  many  would  have  jumped  at  the  chance!  All 
right,  have  your  own  way!" 

"I'm  going  to,"  Sunny  said  brightly,  "I  generally 
do;  and  another  time,  before  you  want  to  take  anyone 
out  to  supper,  just  find  out  first  if  they  want  to  go  or 
not." 

He  said  nothing,  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  say. 
He  sat  glowering  at  her  as  she  opened  the  door  and 
stepped  out.  Sunny  nodded  to  the  driver  and  walked 
away;  she  hurried  back  to  the  theatre.  It  had  certainly 
been  Dobrington,  and  Dobrington  had  beyond  all  doubt 
seen  her  in  the  cab  with  that  man;  what  might  he  not 
think? 

Sunny  walked  quickly,  she  broke  once  or  twice  into 
a  run,  but  during  her  argument  with  Doveton  the  cab 
had  travelled  some  distance.  By  the  time  Sunny  reached 
the  theatre  there  was  no  one  to  be  seen ;  Dobrington  had 
gone. 

Tears  of  annoyance  and  vexation  came  into  Sunny's 
eyes. 

"I  wouldn't  have  him,  or  anyone  else,  come  to  that, 
think  that  I — I  went  on  purpose,  that  I  went  of  my  own 
free  will  with  that  fellow! "  she  said. 

But  there  was  no  help  for  it;  Dobrington  had  gone, 
and  short  of  following  him  to  his  home,  Sunny  could 
not  help  to  let  him  know  the  truth  this  night. 

Slowly  and  sadly  she  turned  homewards. 

"Anyhow,"  she  muttered,  "if  he  cares  anything  for 
me,  if  he  knows  me  like  he  ought  to  do,  he'd  know  I 
wouldn't  do  anything  of  that  sort!  He  ought  to  trust 
me,  and  I  suppose  he  does.  I'll  tell  him  all  about  it 
to-morrow." 

It  was  not  like  Sunny  to  worry  over  a  matter  of  this 
sort;  she  had  acted  in  perfect  innocence;  she  had  nothing 
to  blame  herself  for.  She  had  been  tricked  and  duped, 


Two  Engagements  429 

and  if  Dobrington  cared  anything  for  her  he  would  trust 
her  absolutely. 

To  Sunny 's  mind  it  was  impossible  to  love  anyone 
without  trusting  them.  Love  and  trust  went  hand  in 
hand;  without  the  one,  there  could  not  be  the  other,  that 
was  her  idea. 

Still,  after  all,  it  was  worrying,  very  worrying. 

"  But  I  shan't  bother  nor  think  any  more  about  it,"  she 
muttered.  "When  I  see  him  to-morrow,  I'll  just  tell  him 
everything  and  then  he'll  understand."  She  walked  on 
quickly  homewards,  but  her  little  face,  in  spite  of  herself, 
wore  a  worried  expression.  She  did  not  want  anyone  to 
think  ill  of  her,  and  the  very  last  person  in  the  world, 
Stanley.  Still  to-morrow  she  would  explain  everything, 
and  he  would  understand. 

And  yet,  did  it  all  matter;  was  the  Duchess  right  in 
what  she  had  said?  Would  Lady  Blessendale  ever  be 
inclined  to  regard 

"I  won't  think  about  nothing,"  Sunny  said  aloud. 
She  had  gained  her  own  home,  she  opened  the  door  and 
went  upstairs  to  find  Evy  Clifforde  anxiously  awaiting 
her. 

"Oh,  Sunny,  you  are  so  late  I  began  to  feel  nervous, " 
she  said.  "And,  Sunny,  what's  the  matter?" 

"Matter?"  Sunny  said. 

"You  look  so  worried  and  white,  has  anything 
happened?" 

"Oh,  nothing  much!"  Sunny  said.  "Anyhow,  you 
don't  look  white  and  worried,"  she  said.  "What's  the 
matter  with  you,  Evy?" 

Evy  laughed  and  flushed.  "I — I'll  tell  you  presently, 
but  I'm  not  going  to  be  selfish,  Sunny,  what's  upset 
you?" 

"It's  nothing  much,  nothing  to  write  a  song  about." 
Sunny  said.  "I'll  tell  you—"  She  did. 


430  Sunny  Ducrow 

"And  Dobrington  was  there  and  saw?" 

Sunny  nodded. 

"Do  you  think  he'll  think  that  you  went  purposely 
with " 

"And  if  he  does,  what  does  it  matter?"  Sunny  said 
desperately.  "Now  tell  me  what  your  trouble  is,  Evy." 

"It's  not — not  a  trouble  exactly.  Bert  was  here  to- 
night, and — and  he — and  I — we — Bert  said " 

"Asked  you  to  fix  the  day ? "  Sunny  said. 

"Yes!" 

"And  you  did?    Good  luck  to  you,  dear!" 

Evy  made  a  little  rush  at  Sunny;  she  put  her  arms 
around  her,  and  laid  her  face  against  Sunny's  breast. 

"And  I  owe  it  to  you;  I  owe  everything  to  you,  every- 
thing in  the  world,  Sunny!"  she  said.  "Oh,  Sunny,  but 
for  you,  but  for  you " 

"Hush!"  Sunny  said.  "That's  all  right  Evy,  that's 
all  right!" 

"It  is  all  right  because  of  you,  because  you  made  it 
all  right,  because  you  helped  me,  because  you  were  my 
good  angel  just  at  that  moment  in  my  life  when  I  wanted 
a  good  angel  very,  very  badly.  Sunny,  dear,  to-night 
I — I  told  Bert  everything;  I  told  him  the  entire  truth,  I 
couldn't  be  his  wife  and  keep  anything  from  him  and — 
and  I  think  he  understood." 

"Bert's  got  a  way  of  understanding  things,"  Sunny 
said.  "  He  mayn't  seem  very  sharp,  nor  very  bright,  yet 
all  the  time  he  just  gets  hold  of  things  all  right.  I'm  glad 
you  told  him,  it  was  the  best  thing  you  could  do.  Bert 
won't  think  none  the  less  of  you;  he'll  think  a  lot  the 
more  of  you,  and  you  won't  have  anything,  not  even  the 
memory  of  anything  on  your  conscience!  And — and 
when  is  it  to  be,  Evy?" 

"A  month  to-day,  Sunny,"  Evy  said. 

"And  good  luck  to  you  both,"  Sunny  said.     "I'm  as 


Two  Engagements  431 

pleased — as  pleased  as  if  it  had  been  myself,  more  pleased, 
I  think!  I'm  glad.  Bert's  all  right,  and  he'll  do  well,  I 
know,  he's  started  right!" 

"He  says  I'm  not  to  go  back  to  the  stage,  I'm  to  help 
him  with  his  work,  and  I  believe  I  can  help  him  too,"  Evy 
said. 

"Of  course  you  can,  you've  got  the  education  Bert 
hasn't  got.  You'll  be  no  end  of  help  to  him;  it's  uphill 
work  for  Bert  like  it  is  for  me,  having  no  education  behind 
us.  But  Bert's  doing  as  I've  done,  trying  to  learn  now 
what  we  might  have  learned  years  ago  if  we'd  had  the 
chance.  I'm  glad — glad,  that's  all  I  can  say,  and  I'll 
save  up  and  buy  you  the  best  wedding  present  that  ever 
was!" 

Evy  laughed;  she  hugged  Sunny,  and  the  two  girls  sat 
talking  into  the  small  hours. 

There  was  another  surprise  for  Sunny  in  the  morning. 

"Elizabeth  Ann,  I  would  like  to  speak  a  few  words 
with  you  in  private,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said,  with  ponderous 
importance. 

"I  know,"  Sunny  thought,  "she's  been  buying  new 
bonnets  without  me  knowing  and  running  up  bills,  bad 
old  thing!" 

She  rose  and  followed  Mrs.  Melkin  into  her  own  room. 

"Elizabeth  Ann,  I  'ave  a  communication  to  make 
you,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said. 

"Fire  away,  how  much  is  it?"  Sunny  asked. 

"  I  don't  understand  your  reference, "  Mrs.  Melkin  said. 
"  The  communication  that  I  'ave  to  make  is  with  regard 
to — ahem ! — a  wedding,  that  is  to  say  a  marriage,  ahem ! " 
Mrs.  Melkin  coughed  and  blushed. 

"  I  know  all  about  it!"  Sunny  said. 

"Good  gracious,  'e — 'e  told  you?"  Mrs.  Melkin  cried. 

"  No,  he  didn't,"  Sunny  said.  "There  wasn't  no  need 
for  him  to  tell  me!" 


432  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Then  you  guessed?  You — you  saw,  you  realized  the 
strong  attachment,  the  mutual  liking  and  admiration  that 
was  agrowing  up?" 

"I  saw  it  all — all  right, "  Sunny  said,  "I'm  not  blind." 

"He  is  very,  very  worthy,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said. 

"Of  course  he  is;  he's  not  much  to  look  at,  but  he's 
sound  right  through,"  Sunny  said. 

"To  my  mind  'e  is  a  'andsome  man,  a  man  of  dis- 
tinguished appearance;  besides,  'e  'as  courtly  manners," 
Mrs.  Melkin  said.  "Manners  go  for  a  lot.  The  late 
Melkins" — she  paused — "  'adn't  no  manners  to  speak  of, 
but  'e  'ad  a  'eart  of  gold!"  She  took  out  her  handker- 
chief and  dabbed  her  eyes.  "A  heart  of  gold,  Elizabeth 
Ann!" 

"It's  about  all  the  gold  he  had,  poor  chap!"  Sunny 
said. 

"Well,  it's  all  right;  you  see  I  knew,  and  I'm  glad; 
I  hope  they  will  be  as  happy  as  they  can  be!" 

"They!"  Mrs.  Melkin  said.    "They!    Elizabeth  Ann." 

"Bert  and  Evy!"  Sunny  said. 

" Bert  and  Evy ! "  Mrs.  Melkin  said.  "Elizabeth  Ann, 
I  was  speaking  of — of  myself  and  Mr.  Porkberry." 

' '  What — what  ? ' '  Sunny  said.  "  You  and — and  Porkey , 
you  and — you  don't  mean  you,  good  gracious!"  She 
stared  at  Mrs.  Melkin. 

"Edward  Porkberry  'ave  asked  me  to  become  'is  wife," 
she  said. 

Sunny  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed.  "And — and 
what  did  you  say  to  him?"  she  gasped. 

"I  considered  the  matter;  I  'ad  to  explain  to  'im  that 
I  'adn't  never  contemplated  changing  my  state,  but  his 
pleadings — you  should  'ave  'eard  'im,  a  most  eloquent 
man!  'Is  pleadings  told  on  me.  Eventually,  Elizabeth 
Ann,  I  gave  'im  my  consent!" 

"Well  done!"  Sunny  said. 


Two  Engagements  433 

"I  am  glad  that  you  accepted  it  in  that  spirit!  'E 
spoke  most  highly  of  you  and  your  ability.  I  told  'im, 
of  course,  I'd  done  my  share  by  you,  and  'ad  brought 
you  up  in  the  right  way." 

Sunny  nodded. 

"And  'e  said  great  credit  was  due  to  me,"  Mrs.  Melkin 
went  on.  '"E  said  " — she  paused — "  'E  was  sure  as  you'd 
never  turn  your  back  on  me,  even  if  I  did  change  from 
single  blessedness,  as  the  saying  is." 

"Which  means,"  Sunny  said,  "he  reckons  that  I'll 
always  make  you  an  allowance,  aunt?" 

'"E  did't  put  it  that  coarsely,"  Mrs.  Meikin  said. 

"Well  I  have  and  I  will,"  Sunny  said.  "You  shan't 
ever  want  while  I  have  a  bob,  so  don't  you  worry." 

"It's  satisfactory,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said,  "to  reckernise 
that  all  the  good  work  I  been  and  done  ain't  wasted.  As 
the  saying  is,  I  ain't  sowed  my  tares  on  thorny  ground, 
Elizabeth  Ann,  so  that  they  sprung  up  and  choked  me." 

"And  you — you  going  to  marry  Porkey,  and  Evy 
going  to  marry  Bert,  and  I " — Sunny  paused — "I'm  going 
to  marry  no  one,  it'll  be  a  bit  lonely  for  me." 

"Me  and  Edward  was  considering  about  your  living 
with  us,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said. 

Sunny  shook  her  head.  "Two's  company  and  three's 
none,"  she  said.  "I'd  only  get  in  everyone's  way,  I'm 
better  alone!" 

Bert  and  Evy,  Porkey  and  her  aunt,  what  a  pairing  off, 
Sunny  thought,  as  she  put  on  her  hat  and  went  out. 

"And  me — me  alone,  it'll  be  a  bit  lonely  coming  home 
and  finding  nobody,"  she  thought.  "However,  what's 
the  use  of  grousing?" 

She  walked  briskly  to  the  Realm  and  found  Arthur 
Curtiss  as  usual  in  his  office. 

"  I  want  to  see  the  boss, "  she  said. 

"He's  in,  but  I  don't  know " 

28 


434  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Tell  him  it's  Sunny  Ducrow!" 

Arthur  Curtiss  smiled. 

" It  seems, "  he  said,  "that  Sunny  Ducrow  can  get  her 
own  way  and  get  a  hearing  when  other  people  can't.  I'll 
tell  him ! "  He  went  into  the  next  room. 

"He'll  see  you,  of  course,  he  says;  you  can  have  exactly 
three  minutes,  nothing  more!" 

Sunny  went  in. 

Barstowe  nodded;  he  never  shook  hands,  it  was  one  of 
his  cranks.  He  looked  at  the  clock  on  the  table  before 
him. 

"Well?" 

"About  going,"  Sunny  said. 

"Going?" 

"I've  got  an  offer  from  Hemmingway  in  his  play  The 
Lady  Detective,  he's  offered  me  lead  at  eighty  a  week." 

"You  are  free,  aren't  you,  at  the  end  of  the  month?" 

"Yes,  but  you've  got  first  call,  do  you  want  me?" 

"I  don't  know,  haven't  had  time  to  think  it  over. 
Hemmingway  offers  you  eighty,  eh?" 

"Yes,  "Sunny  said. 

"Your  contract  with  me  ends  this  month;  why  do  you 
come  to  me,  you  are  free  to  accept  after  this  month?" 

"Yes,  but  you  helped  me  a  lot;  I  don't  let  people  down 
who  have  helped  me." 

Barstowe  smiled. 

"Good  girl, "  he  said,  "go  and  take  your  eighty,  I  won't 
stand  in  your  way;  besides,  we're  connected  in  business 
anyhow.  How's  the  factory  ? " 

"Fine!  "Sunny  said. 

"I'm  putting  down  two  thousand  young  plums  this 
autumn,  and  I  thought  of  laying  out  about  another 
twenty  acres  under  strawberries,  though  it's  a  risky  crop." 

He  grew  animated,  he  talked  of  crops,  of  plums, 
strawberries,  raspberries,  and  apples  and  the  like. 


Two  Engagements  435 

Suddenly  he  stopped.  ' '  Time's  up, "  he  said.  ' '  You've 
had  five  minutes.  Good-bye!  Oh,  by  the  way,  my 
compliments  to  Hemmingway.  I  don't  see  much  of  him 
these  days.  Hope  you'll  be  successful.  Anyhow,  I  shan't 
lose  sight  of  you.  I'd  like  you  to  come  down  to  my  place 
one  week-end  and  we  might  go  over  the  ground  together. 
You  seem  to  know  a  bit  about  everything.  Foster's 
inclined  to  think  our  soil's  a  bit  heavy  for  strawberries." 

"You  can  lighten  it  up,"  Sunny  said.    "I  heard " 

She  talked  on  about  soils,  and  Barstowe  forgot  the 
passage  of  time. 

" Now  you  must  go, "  he  said.  "It's  been  a  pleasure  to 
see  you.  Good-bye  and  good  luck,  Sunny!"  He  held 
out  his  hand,  a  rare  and  strange  thing  for  him  to  do. 

Sunny's  face  was  flushed  when  she  went  into  Curtiss's 
office. 

"I  luppose  you  had  your  way  all  right?"  he  asked. 
"You  usually  do;  you  don't  look  as  if  you  had  met  with 
a  disappointment." 

"He  was  an  old  dear,"  Sunny  said.  "I'll  be  leaving 
you  at  the  end  of  the  month,  Arthur." 

"Leaving?"  he  said.     "Leaving  the  Realm?" 

"I  am  going  to  play  lead  in  Hemmingway's  new  piece," 
she  said,  "at  eighty!"  She  laughed.  " Eighty  pounds  a 
week,  and  me  only  just  turned  eighteen,  it's  not  bad, 
is  it?" 

"It's  rattling  good;  you're  a  lucky  girl,"  he  said.  "  No. 
I  don't  mean  that  quite;  it  isn't  all  luck  with  you,  you 
have  had  your  share  of  luck,  but  you  are" — he  paused — 
"  well  you,  that's  it.  I  suppose ! "  he  sighed  and  looked  at 
her.  "You  won't  drop  out  altogether,  Sunny,  I  suppose, 
you  won't  forget  old  friends?" 

"  I'm  not  built  that  way,  Arthur, "  she  said.  "  Once  my 
friends,  always  my  friends!" 

"And  I'm  that,  eh,  a  friend?" 


436  Sunny  Ducrow 

"One  of  the  best!"  she  said;  she  held  out  her  hand  to 
him.  "One  of  the  best  in  the  world,  dear!" 

"Thank  you,  Sunny!"  he  said  quietly,  then  suddenly 
he  stooped  and  kissed  her  hand. 

He,  the  superior,  the  exquisite,  and  the  unimpression- 
able Mr.  Arthur  Curtiss  had  done  that ! 

"And  somehow,"  Sunny  thought  as  she  went  out, 
"somehow,  though  I'm  going  to  get  eighty,  and  I'm  going 
to  play  lead,  and  I'm  going  back  to  where  I  started  first 
and  know  'em  all;  somehow  I'm  sorry,  sorry  to  go!  It's 
been  good  here,  I've  had  a  good  time  and  I've  got  real  good 
friends!  Poor  Arthur!"  She  laughed  a  little,  but  the 
tears  came  into  her  eyes.  "  Poor  Arthur ! ' '  she  said  again. 

Sunny  stopped  and  had  a  few  words  with  Porkey. 
She  congratulated  him  and  gave  him  a  little  advice. 

"She's  a  bit  fond  of  a  weep  now  and  again,  only  don't 
take  a  wonderful  lot  of  notice  of  it,"  she  said.  "She  likes 
it,  and  it  don't  do  no  harm.  Sometimes  she'll  tell  you  a 
lot  about  Melkin." 

"I  know,"  he  said.  "I  been  married  twice  before 
myself,  miss!" 

"Then  when  she  starts  telling  you  about  Melkin,  you 
start  telling  her  about  the  other  two,  see?"  Sunny  said. 

He  nodded. 

"And  the  odds  are  in  your  favor,"  Sunny  said.  "And 
as  for  other  things  that'll  be  all  right,  and  good  luck  to 
you,  Porkey!"  She  shook  hands  with  him. 

"Thank  you,  miss!"  he  said. 

"And  seeing  you're  to  be  my  uncle-in-law  by  marriage," 
Sunny  said,  "you  needn't  bother  about  miss,  Sunny  is 
my  name!" 

"I  wouldn't  dare  make  bold,  not  here  at  all  events, 
miss!"  he  said. 

Sunny  went  to  Hemmingway  and  made  her  final 
arrangements.  She  took  the  script  of  her  new  part  and 


Two  Engagements  437 

listened  while  Posetti  ran  through  her  songs;  they  were 
splendid  songs,  real  winners,  she  knew. 

Everything  was  just  as  all  right  as  everything  could 
be,  except  one  thing,  she  had  not  seen  Dobrington.  She 
had  left  word  at  the  Realm  that  if  he  came  there  she 
wanted  to  see  him.  She  went  home  and  waited;  her  aunt 
was  out,  had  gone  to  meet  Porkey.  Bert  and  Evy  were 
out,  she  was  alone,  getting  her  first  taste  of  loneliness. 

Perhaps  he  might  come,  but  he  did  not;  the  day 
waned,  the  others  came  back  for  tea. 

Evy  looked  at  her  anxiously.  "  Haven't  you  seen  him, 
Sunny?"  she  whispered. 

"Not — not  yet,  but  I  shall  to-night  very  likely," 
Sunny  said,  with  a  catch  in  her  voice. 

But  she  did  not  see  him  that  night,  nor  the  following 
day,  nor  the  day  that  followed  that.  She  went  to  Sunny- 
ville,  hoping  against  hope  that  he  might  go  there,  but  he 
had  not  been  near  the  place.  The  factory  was  working 
full  swing  now.  The  entire  neighborhood  was  pervaded 
with  the  smell  of  boiling  vinegar  and  stewing  fruits. 

Sunny  looked  about  her,  it  was  her  place,  her  making. 
It  was  one  of  her  dreams  and  one  of  her  ambitions  that 
had  come  to  pass.  But  for  her  and  her  ideas,  Sunnyville 
would  never  have  been  put  here;  but  here  it  was,  a  reality 
as  anyone  could  smell  and  see. 

Those  dear  little  red-and-white  cottages,  how  bright 
they  looked,  how  happy  the  women  and  the  children 
looked.  What  a  different  life  for  them  after  the  narrow 
streets  and  the  hot  pavements  of  the  wrong  end  of 
London. 

They  seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  she  was  a  girl  who 
had  once  stuck  labels  on  jam  jars,  she  was  the  Lady 
Bountiful  now.  They  bobbed  curtsies  to  her,  and  were 
honored  when  she  went  into  their  pretty  little  sitting- 
rooms. 


438  Sunny  Ducrow 

And  she  was  happy,  happy  in  their  homes,  happy  when 
she  went  roughly  through  the  very  satisfactory  accounts 
with  Mr.  Johnson.  Yet  all  the  time  there  was  a  little 
ache,  a  little  longing,  something  unsatisfied  in  her  heart. 

And  now  a  week  had  passed  and  of  him  not  one  word, 
not  a  sign.  She  hid  her  feelings  as  best  she  could,  she  did 
not  want  to  strike  a  discordant  note  just  now  when  there 
was  so  much  happiness  about  her.  She  must  consider  Evy 
and  Bert,  and  even  Mrs.  Melkin,  who  was  busy  preparing 
her  trousseau. 

" It  takes  me  back,  it  do, "  she  said,  "it  takes  me  back, 
Elizabeth  Ann,  to  them  happy  days  of  long  ago,  as  the 
song  says,  when  I  was  a  young  gel,  soon  to  be  a  blushing 
bride." 

Mrs.  Melkin  took  out  her  handkerchief.  "How  it  all 
do  come  back ;  I  see  it  like  it  was  yesterday,  and  the  years 
'ave  rolled  by,  as  the  saying  is." 

"And  you're  going  to  do  it  all  over  again,"  Sunny 
said.  "So  cheer  up ! " 

It  was  all  very  fine  to  tell  Mrs.  Melkin  to  cheer  up,  but 
she  wanted  to  cheer  up  herself.  Where  was  he?  Not  a 
word,  not  a  sign  since  that  night. 

There  was  a  note  for  Sunny  at  the  Realm  to-night. 

"DEAR  SUNNY, — Come  and  see  me  to-morrow. — 
Affectionately  yours,  CHRISTINE  LULHAM.  " 

"And  to  think  the  day  would  ever  come,  as  aunt 
might  say,  when  I'd  get  a  friendly  little  note  like  this 
from  a  duchess!"  Sunny  thought. 


CHAPTER  LIX 
FIVE  O'CLOCK  TEA 

"  TV/ELL,  Sunny  Ducrow,  so  after  all  you  thought  I 

W  was  wrong,  eh?  You  did  not  take  my  advice! 
One  day,  my  dear,  you  will  find  out  that  I  knew  more 
than  you  did — a  pity,  a  pity!"  The  old  lady  sighed. 

Sunny  looked  at  her  wonderingly. 

"I  don't  quite  understand  what  your  Grace  means," 
she  said. 

"Well,  my  Grace  means  that  you  have  foolishly  sent 
a  very  estimable  and  well-meaning  young  man  away 
when  you  ought,  had  you  any  sense,  to  have  kept  him 
by  your  side." 

"But — but  I — I  did  not!"  Sunny  paused;  she  stam- 
mered. "I  didn't  know  he'd  gone  away." 

"Of  course  he's  gone  away  to  Timbuctoo  or  some  such 
place.  I  believe  the  correct  and  romantic  description  is, 
'He  has  gone  big-game  hunting,'  whatever  that  may 
mean.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  believe  he  has  gone  adven- 
turing in  America  or  Australia." 

' '  Who — who  has  ? "  Sunny  gasped.  ' '  Not— not  Stan, 
not  Lord  Dobrington." 

"Of  course,  didn't  you  know?" 

Sunny  shook  her  head.  She  suddenly  felt  cold,  years 
older,  very  lonely,  and  very  helpless;  the  tears  gathered 
in  her  eyes. 

"Come here,"  her  Grace  said.  "Sunny  Ducrow,  come 
here!" 

439 


44°  Sunny  Ducrow 

She  put  her  hand  on  Sunny's  shoulder.  "Did  you 
see  him,  did  you  send  him  away?" 

"No,  I  didn't!"  Sunny  said.  "I  haven't  spoken  to 
him  since — since  I  was  here  last;  I've  been  wondering 
where  he  was.  I've  been  looking  for  him  every  day  and 
wondering." 

"You  poor  little  thing;  I  understand  it,  then,"  her 
Grace  said.  "It  was  the  boy's  foolish  mother!"  She 
sighed.  "I  thought  Dobrington  had  more  sense,  more 
pluck,  more  courage.  So  he  has  been  sent  away  so  that 
he  would  not  fall  a  victim  to  the  artful  and  designing 
Miss  Sunny  Ducrow,"  she  said,  and  laughed.  "Poor 
child!"  Her  laughter  ceased,  her  voice  grew  tender. 

"I  didn't  know  he  had  gone,"  Sunny  said  miserably; 
"I  didn't  know  a  bit.  He — he  never  came  to  say  good- 
bye even." 

"No.  I  begin  to  understand  now,"  her  Grace  said. 
"I  am  sorry;  it  is  a  pity.  I  thought  better  of  him, 
mother-ridden,  poor  fellow.  Well,  well,  he's  gone  and 
there's  an  end  of  it;  we  mustn't  break  our  hearts,  Sunny 
Ducrow,  must  we?" 

Sunny  did  not  answer;  she  was  trying  to  realize  it. 
Stan  had  gone,  gone  without  one  word,  gone  without 
saying  even  good-bye  to  her.  The  last  time,  the  very 
last  time  she  had  seen  him  was  that  night  when  Doveton 
had  played  that  foolish  senseless  trick  on  her.  Could 
he  have  thought,  could  he  have  believed,  for  one  moment, 
that  ehe  wanted  to  go,  that  she  was  going  of  her  own 
free  will  with  that  man?  Was  that  why  he  had  gone, 
because  he  was  sickened  and  disgusted  with  her? 

"We'll  have  tea,"  the  Duchess  said.  "Sunny,  my 
dear,  men  may  come  and  men  may  go,  but  five  o'clock 
tea  goes  on  for  ever.  Ring  the  bell,  child. " 

But  there  was  no  need,  a  footman  opened  the  door 
and  stalked  in.  "Lady  Blessendale,  your  Grace.'" 


Five  o'clock  Tea  44* 

The  Duchess  gave  Sunny  a  quick  glance.  "Sit  her 
out,"  she  whispered.  "Understand?" 

Her  ladyship  came  in,  she  beamed  delightedly;  then 
she  saw  Sunny  and  her  face  changed,  it  hardened.  She 
shook  hands  with  the  Duchess. 

"I  thought  you  knew  Miss  Sunny  Ducrow,"  her 
Grace  said. 

Lady  Blessendale  gave  Sunny  a  cold  bow. 

"We  were  talking  of  you  and  your  son;  Miss  Ducrow 
did  not  know  that  he  had  gone." 

"I  do  not  see  how  my  son's  movements  can  affect 
Miss  Ducrow,"  her  ladyship  said. 

Sunny  sat  in  silence.  She  felt  crushed  and  miserable; 
she  wanted  to  get  up  and  slip  away.  She  was  out  of  her 
element  here  with  these  two  great  ladies,  but  one  of 
them  she  knew  was  her  friend. 

The  Duchess  was  not  one  to  beat  about  any  bush; 
if  she  had  anything  to  say,  she  said  it. 

"So  you  sent  Dobrington  away,  eh?"  she  asked. 

"I  did  nothing  of  the  kind;  he  went  at  his  own  wish 
and  of  his  own  free  will.  Personally,  I  was  sorry;  I 
miss  him  naturally." 

Lady  Blessendale  had  seated  herself ;  she  so  arranged 
it  that  Sunny  had  a  clear  view  of  her  back. 

"My  son  went  of  his  own  will  and  at  his  own  sugges- 
tion. I  have  a  brother  in  Australia,  and  Stanley  had 
long  desired  to  visit  him,  so  he  went." 

"Why?"  the  Duchess  demanded. 

"Really,  I  don't  know;  a  young  man " 

"Stuff  and  nonsense!  There  was  some  reason  for  it. 
If  you  did  not  send  him  away,  who  did?'' 

"Really,"  her  ladyship  said,  "my  dear  Duchess!" 

"Oh,  don't  dear  Duchess  me!"  the  old  lady  cried. 
"Who  sent  the  boy  away?" 

"I  tell  you  he  went  of  his  own  wish  and  desire." 


442  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Why?  My  dear  good  woman,  I  am  not  blind,  nor 
a  fool ;  I  know  that  Dobrington  was  over  head  and  heels 
in  love  with  that  little  girl  you  are  turning  your  back 
on.  A  man  in  love  wouldn't  rush  away  from  the  object 
of  his  affections." 

Lady  Blessendale  rose.  "I  did  not  come  here  to — to 
discuss  my  son  with  anyone,"  she  said;  "nor  would  I 
certainly  have  come  here  did  I  happen  to  know  who 
your  visitor  was.  Since  you  force  me  to  give  you  the 
truth,  I  will  tell  you.  I  do  not  wish  to  meet  Miss  Ducrow 
now,  nor  at  any  time.  If  you  knew  the  truth  about  her 
you  would  probably  not  receive  her  into  your  house. 
It  was  because  my  son  discovered  for  himself  what  she 
was,  and  the  depths  to  which  she  had  sunk,  that  he  de- 
cided to  go  and  leave  the  country  in  order  to  avoid  the 
unpleasant  possibility  of  meeting  her  again." 

' '  Miss  Ducrow  is  an  actress ;  I  think  that  is  the  only  sin, 
if  a  sin  it  is,  you  can  lay  to  her  charge ! "  the  Duchess  said. 

Sunny  had  risen;  she  was  flushed  and  trembling,  she 
gripped  at  the  back  of  her  chair. 

"I  always  knew  that  Miss  Ducrow  was  an  actress.  I 
did  not  despise  her  for  that  reason." 

"Very  kind  of  you,"  the  Duchess  said.  "Very  noble 
of  you  indeed !  This  girl  has  worked  her  way  up  in  the 
world,  fought  a  single-handed  fight.  I  see  in  her  a 
great  deal  to  admire,  a  great  deal  to — almost  to  reverence. 
I  have  a  passionate  love  for  strength  and  steadfastness 
of  purpose.  I  see  both  in  this  girl;  but  because  she  is 
lowly  born,  because  she  is  an  actress,  because  she  had  to 
work  in  a  lard  factory  or  something,  you  look  down  on 
her.  She  is  not  good  enough  for  your  son.  You  forget 
that  the  founder  of  your  husband's  house  was  a  brewer 
in  the  reign  of  George  the  Third.  In  what  way  is  a 
brewer  more  desirable  than  a  lard  manufacturer — is  it 
lard?  No,  jam — it's  all  the  same,  I  never  touch  either!" 


Five  o'clock  Tea  443 

"Perhaps  you  will  hear  me,"  Lady  Blessendale  said. 
"  I  wish  to  say  this,  that  if  my  son  had  set  his  heart  on 
marrying  a  girl  who  sold  flowers  in  the  street,  if  I  believed 
that  that  girl  was  an  honest,  honorable,  respectable, 
and  worthy  girl,  one  who  would  make  him  happy  and 
prove  herself,  of  humble  origin  though  she  might  be, 
worthy  of  being  his  wife,  I  would  be  content.  But  it  is 
because  Miss  Ducrow  is  neither  honest  nor  honorable 
that  I — I  would  sooner  see  my  son  dead,  love  him  though 
I  do,  than  the  husband  of  such  a  woman." 

"Oh!"  Sunny  gasped. 

The  little  Duchess  crossed  the  room;  she  went  straight 
to  Sunny  and  put  her  arm  around  the  trembling  girl. 

"  Of  what  do  you  accuse  this  child,  Lady  Blessendale? " 

"I  accuse  her  of  lightness  of  conduct,  of  behaving  in 
a  manner  that  no  well-conducted  girl  would  behave  in! 
I  accuse  her  of " 

"Give  one  instance,  one  example!"  her  Grace  said. 

"It  is  easily  done!  Ten  days  ago  this  girl  went  with 
a  man  who  is  notably  a  bad  character  to  a  certain  restau- 
rant to  supper." 

"I — I  did  not!"  Sunny  gasped. 

"Excuse  me,  my  son  saw  you  with  the  man!  He  was 
so  surprised  that  he  could  not  believe  his  eyes.  He 
held  you  in  high  esteem,  unfortunately!"  Her  ladyship 
laughed.  "But  he  made  assurance  certain;  he  sought 
out  the  man  and  questioned  him.  This  man  Doveton 
admitted  that  you  had  supped  with  him,  and  gone  to  a 
night  club  with  him  afterwards,  and  that  he  had  seen 
you  home  at  about  five  in  the  morning." 

"It — it  is  a  lie!"  Sunny  gasped.  "Oh,  it  is  a  lie  from 
beginning  to  end!1' 

"Sir  Robert  Doveton  is  a  gentleman,  and  would  not 
lie  on  such  a  subject.  He  told  my  son  these  facts  only 
under  great  pressure.  I  repeat  now,"  Lady  Blessendale 


444  Sunny  Ducrow 

said,  "that  though  I  would  naturally  desire  and  wish 
for  my  son  to  marry  in  his  own  class,  one  of  his  own  rank 
and  station,  one  of  breeding  and  blood,  I  would  yet 
willingly  give  way;  his  happiness  is  dearer  to  me  than 
any  other  consideration.  I  would  see  him  marry,  as  I 
have  said,  a  flower-girl,  out  of  the  street,  a  crossing- 
sweeper,  an  actress."  She  waved  her  hand.  "I  would 
not  care,  I  would  not  mind  how  lowly  the  girl  was,  but 
I  do  demand  and  insist  that  my  son's  wife  shall  be  above 
reproach.  And  you,  Miss  Ducrow,  are  not  that;  you 
are  like — the  rest,  I  suppose."  She  shrugged  her  shoul- 
ders, she  made  a  sweeping  bow  to  the  Duchess  and 
went  out. 

"Sunny  Ducrow,  is  this  ail  true?"  her  Grace  asked. 

"It  is  a  lie  from  beginning  to  end,"  Sunny  cried. 
"Oh,  it  is  a  lie,  there's  no  truth  in  it,  not  one  word  of 
truth!  But — but — "  She  paused,  she  tried  hard  to 
fight  back  the  tears,  tears  so  unusual  with  her. 

"But  it  don't  matter  now,  it's  over  and  done  with; 
he  thinks — "  She  paused  again.  "He  asked  him,  and 
he  lied  about  me,  and  he  believed !  He  didn't  ought  to 
have  gone  to  him  at  all,  he  ought  to  have  come  straight 
to  me,  and  I'd  have  told  him  everything." 

"As  you  can't  tell  him,  my  dear,"  the  Duchess  said, 
"tdl  me!" 


CHAPTER  LX 

A  CHANGE 

EVERYONE  saw  the  change  and   yet   none  quite 
realized  what  the  change  was.     She  looked  the 
same,  she  spoke  the  same,  there  was  the  same  smile  on 
her  lips  and  in  her  eyes,  the  same  cheerful  outlook  on 
life,  and  yet  withal  there  was  a  difference. 

Barstowe,  the  man  who  said  little  but  saw  much,  looked 
at  her,  wondered  for  a  moment  or  two,  then  smiled.  He 
thought  he  understood,  but  man-like  he  was  wrong. 
"Fallen  in  love,  most  girls  do!"  he  thought. 

Arthur  Curtiss  looked  at  Sunny  in  a  puzzled  way. 
Yes,  she  was  changed,  she  seemed — older — that  was  it! 
She  had  left  childhood  behind  her  suddenly,  there  was 
a  new  look  in  her  eyes. 

To  the  casual  observer,  Sunny  was  just  the  same,  only 
those  who  knew  her  and  loved  her  saw  the  subtle  change. 
Evy  saw  it.  Bert  was  dimly  conscious  of  it,  but  did 
not  understand  it.  Mrs.  Melkin,  engrossed  in  her  own 
matrimonial  affairs,  saw  nothing  at  all. 

"Sunny  dear,  what  is  it?"  Evy  asked. 

"What  is  what?"  Sunny  said. 

"I  think  you  know,  dear;  you  are  different!"  Evy 
said.  "What  is  it?" 

Sunny  laughed.  " It's  all  nothing !"  she  said.  "It's 
nothing,  and  it  is  not  going  to  make  a  bit  of  difference 
to  me!"  She  laughed  again,  but  a  little  unsteadily. 

445 


446  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Is  it" — Evy  paused — "is  it" — she  grew  bold  sud- 
denly— "  Dobrington?" 

Sunny  turned  and  regarded  her  seriously.  "Dobring- 
ton?" she  said.  "Lord  Dobrington?  He  has  gone 
away.  I  don't  suppose  he  and  I  will  ever  meet  again; 
if  we  do,  it  won't  be  as  friends." 

"Sunny,  I  thought — thought  you  and  he — cared?" 
Evy  said. 

"I  thought  so,"  Sunny  said  quietly.  "I  did  care, 
perhaps  in  my  heart  I  do  now.  I  don't  quite  understand 
myself,  Evy ;  I  don't  think  I  want  to.  I  am  quite  happy. 
I  am  looking  forward  to  seeing  you  and  Bert  and  auntie 
and  Porkey  married.  Then — then  I  shall" — she  paused 
— "I  shall  go  and  live  at  Sunny ville.  I've  made  up  my 
mind  to  that.  It's  less  than  an  hour  by  road.  I  shall 
have  a  car;  I  always  promised  myself  one,  you  know." 
Sunny  smiled.  There  was  a  dreamy,  far-away  look  in 
her  eyes.  "In  the  old  days,  when  it  seemed  quite  im- 
possible, I  used  to  promise  myself  a  car.  Here's  Bert, 
he  will  remember." 

"Bert  came  into  the  room,  nodded  to  Sunny,  and  kissed 
Evy  awkwardly. 

"Bert,  Evy  and  I  were  talking  about  the  past;  it 
seems  like  a  hundred  years  ago,  doesn't  it?" 

"The  past?"  Bert  said  vaguely.  "You  mean  the 
pickles — Sunny  ? ' ' 

"I  mean  the  past,  you  and  me — boy  and  girl;  kids, 
we  were  then,  Bert,  and  it's  barely  more  than  a  year 
ago.  A  lot  of  water's  passed  under  the  bridges  for  us 
this  past  year,  Bert." 

He  nodded. 

"Do  you  remember  how  I  used  to  say  one  day  I'd 
ride  in  a  fine  car  of  my  own?" 

He  laughed.  "I  remember,"  he  said.  "I  never 
thought  it  would  come  true.  I  used  to  think  you  were 


A  Change  447 

a  bit  wrong  in  the  upper  story,  Sunny.  Now,  I  suppose 
you  could  have  two  cars  if  you  wanted  'em;  you're 
going  to  get  eighty  a  week  from  Hemmingway." 

"Yes,"  she  said;  there  was  no  enthusiasm  in  her 
face.  "I  shall  buy  a  car  and  I  shall  live  in  one  of  those 
little  red-and- white  houses  at  Sunny ville.  I'll  have 
something  to  keep  me  busy  all  day  when  there  is  no 
matine'e.  I'll  worry  poor  Johnson  into  his  grave,  I 
expect." 

"Sunny,  it's  going  to  be  a  little  lonely  for  you,  dear," 
Evy  said. 

"Lonely?  Yes,  I  suppose  I'll  be  a  bit  lonely  at  first. 
I'll  miss  you,  I'll  miss  Bert  coming  in,  I'll  even  miss 
auntie  in  a  way.  You  see,  I've  got  used  to  her,  one  gets 
used  to  any  old  thing.  I've  been  with  her  a  hundred 
years  now,  and  it'll  seem  strange  her  not  being  around. 
But  there's  always  changes;  sometimes,  when  you'll 
have  me,  I'll  come  and  see  you  and  Bert  on  Sundays." 

"I  wish  you  were  going  to  live  with  us  altogether," 
Evy  said. 

"No,  you  don't,  not  in  your  heart,  you  don't!  One's 
all  right  by  himself,  two  together  are  all  right,  but  three 
means  trouble  sooner  or  later.  You'd  have  me  falling 
in  love  with  Bert,  or  Bert  with  me,  or  something!" 
Sunny  laughed.  She  kissed  Evy  suddenly  and  went  out. 
They  heard  her  whistling  as  she  went  downstairs. 

"I  wish  she  was  happier!"  Evy  said  wistfully. 

Bert  stared.  "She  couldn't  be!  Hark  at  her  now, 
whistling  like  a  blessed  canary!" 

"That  doesn't  mean  she's  happy;  of  course  she's 
not  unhappy,  she  isn't  miserable.  I  don't  mean  that. 
Sunny  couldn't  be  miserable  if  she  tried.  But — but 
there's  something — all  is  not  quite  well  with  her." 

Sunny's  time  at  the  Realm  was  growing  very  short 
now,  already  London  was  being  placarded  with  bills  of 


448  Sunny  Ducrow 

the  new  play,  "  The  Lady  Detective,  Musical  Comedy, 
Miss  Sunny  Ducrow."  Her  own  name  stared  at  her  on 
every  hoarding: 

"Miss  Sunny  Ducrow  as  Miss  Cynthia  Jelks,  the 
Lady  Detective." 

Only  three  more  days  and  she  was  finished  at  the 
Realm,  and  Sunny  felt  a  little  sad  about  it.  Everyone 
at  the  Realm,  from  Arthur  Curtiss  down  to  the  snub- 
nosed  cheeky  call-boy,  was  her  friend.  There  was  not 
a  man,  woman,  or  child  there  who  would  not  have  done 
anything  for  her.  She  knew  the  private  history  of 
everyone  in  the  place. 

No  man  had  an  ailing  wife  or  child  but  Sunny  remem- 
bered and  stopped  to  ask  him  for  news,  and  usually 
sent  some  little  gift  to  the  afflicted  ones.  They  loved 
her,  how  could  they  help  it?  They  called  her  Sunny 
affectionately  behind  her  back,  and  even  dared  to  call 
her  Sunny  to  her  face;  and  she  smiled,  she  liked  it. 

She  was  Sunny  to  everyone.  The  cheeky  call-boy 
openly  dared  to  call  to  Sunny  that  the  stage  waited, 
and  he  was  not  reprimanded.  He  would  have  lain 
down  and  allowed  Sunny  to  wipe  her  small  feet  on  him 
if  she  had  wanted  to.  As  it  was,  he  thrashed  and  sadly 
disfigured  the  face  of  William,  the  son  of  Mrs.  Mack  the 
dresser,  who  dared  to  say  that  Sunny 's  hair  was  red. 

Percy,  the  call-boy,  licked  him  and  went  on  licking 
him  till  William  admitted  that  it  was  not  red,  but "  obun." 
Only  Porkey  at  the  stage-door  insisted  on  formalities. 

"There's  a  letter  for  you,  miss,"  he  said. 

Sunny  took  it ;  she  looked  at  the  narrow,  thin,  crabbed 
handwriting,  and  knew  it  at  once. 

"DEAR  SUNNY, — Come  to  tea,  be  here  three-thirty- 
five  exactly;  don't  fail. — Your  friend, 

"CHRISTINE  LULHAM." 


A  Change  449 

"Bless  her  old  heart!"  Sunny  muttered.  "I'll  go  all 
right." 

Arthur  Curtiss  was  coming  in;  he  looked  at  her. 

"Time's  getting  short,  Sunny,"  he  said. 

"Only  three  days  more  and  I'm  done  here,"  she  said. 
"I'm  sorry." 

"So  am  I,  dear,"  he  said  quietly. 

Sunny  looked  up  at  him  quickly.  He  was  as  well 
dressed  as  ever,  as  smart  and  as  well  turned  out,  but  he 
was  not  looking  himself;  he  looked  a  little  pale  and  a 
little  worried. 

"Are  you  in  a  hurry,  Sunny?"  he  asked. 

She  shook  her  head.     "Not  particular!"  she  said. 

"Come  and  have  a  talk  with  me,  then,"  he  said.  He 
led  the  way  to  his  room. 

"Sit  down,  "he  said. 

Sunny  sat  down;  there  was  a  strange  constraint.  He 
was  just  the  same,  friendly,  something  more  perhaps 
than  merely  friendly,  but  there  was  something  in  the 
atmosphere  to-day  that  Sunny  could  not  quite  under- 
stand. 

Arthur  Curtiss  sat  down;  he  put  his  elbows  on  the 
writing-table  and  his  chin  on  his  hands. 

"Sunny,  I  want  to  talk  to  you,  dear,"  he  said.  "Not 
— not  about — "  He  flushed  suddenly.  "I'm  not  go- 
ing to  worry  you  any  more,  girl."  He  paused.  'Only, 
I  want  to  help  you ;  there's  something  gone  a  bit  wrong 
with  your  life,  and  perhaps  you  have  no  friend,  no  real 
friend  to  whom  you  can  turn  and  open  your  heart." 
He  paused.  "I — I'm  rather  a  fool — rather  a  fool  at 
explaining  myself.  I  hope  you  understand;  I  don't 
want  to  pry  into  what  does  not  concern  me.  I  don't 
want  to  busy  myself  with  what  you  would  rather  have 
left  alone,  but — "  He  hesitated,  he  faltered,  and  came 
to  a  standstill. 
39 


450  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Tell  me,"  she  said,  "tell  me  in  just  plain  words, 
Arthur,  I'll  understand  better!" 

"Yes,"  he  said;  he  gulped.  "Sunny,  you  know  how 
I  cared — cared,  care  now.  I  realize  there  is  no  hope 
for  me,  I  look  forward  to  nothing;  I've  put  myself,  my 
hopes,  and  my  future  out  of  the  question  altogether, 
I'm  thinking  just  of  you.  I  want  to  help  you.  I  know 
there  is  someone  you  care  for  very  much;  I  know  that 
that  someone  has  gone  away,  there's  been  a  misunder- 
standing, a  quarrel  perhaps;  some  small  thing  that  could 
easily  be  adjusted  and  arranged.  I  want  you  to  use  me, 
Sunny,  use  me  just  as  if  I  was  your  brother.  Tell  me 
just  what  you  like,  as  much  or  as  little,  and  tell  me  how 
I  can  help  you." 

"You  can't  help  me,  Arthur,"  she  said  quietly. 

"I  might!"  he  said  eagerly.  "I  know  that  you — you 
loved  Dobrington.  I  know  he  cared  a  lot  for  you.  He's 
gone  away,  and  you — you're  a  bit  different,  old  girl; 
I've  seen  it.  I've  watched  you,  and  I  know.  Why  has 
Dobrington  gone?  I  know  you've  never  done  anything 
in  your  life  to  feel  shame  for;  has  he  done  something, 
has  he  offended  you?" 

"No,"  she  said. 

"Sunny,  won't  you  tell  me,  won't  you  let  me  help 
you?  If  you  wanted  me — I  don't  know  where  he  is, 
but  I'd  go  and  find  him  and  bring  him  back,  if  it  would 

be  helping  you.     I  don't  care  how  far  he  has  gone,  I'd 
>» 

"He's  gone  to  Australia,"  Sunny  said.  "The  other 
side  of  the  world!" 

"I'll  go  if  you  want  me  and  bring  him  back  to  you,  if 
there's  some  misunderstanding  that  I  can  clear  up,"  he 
said. 

Sunny 's  eyes  suddenly  filled;  she  rose  and  went  across 
the  room  to  him. 


A  Change  451 

"Arthur,  you're  a  good  sort,  a  true  friend,"  she  said. 
"There  aren't  many  like  you,  many  who  would  do  what 
you  would  do  for  me,  considering " 

"Considering  that  I  love  you,"  he  said.  "It  doesn't 
offend  you,  Sunny,  for  me  to  tell  you  this,  does  it? 
There's  no  shame  in  having  won  my  love.  I  will  never 
worry  you  with  it,  but  it'll  go  on,  just  go  on,  whatever 
happens;  and  because  I  love  you  very,  very  much, 
dear,  I  want  to  see  you  happier,  I  want  to  help  you  to 
happiness  if  I  can;  tell  me  the  way,  show  me  the  way, 
and  I  will  do  it." 

"Even  to  bringing  Stanley  back?"  she  said,  with  a 
shake  in  her  voice. 

"Even  to  that,"  he  said.  "Willingly,  willingly,  to 
bring  the  smiles  and  happiness  back  into  your  face,  my 
dear." 

She  laid  her  small  hand  over  his.  "There's  nothing 
you  can  do  for  me,  Arthur,"  she  said,  "nothing!  And 
I  shan't  forget  you — you  asking  me!  There  aren't 
many — "  She  stopped  suddenly  and  kissed  him  on 
the  forehead.  Then  she  went  to  the  door;  in  the  door- 
way she  stood  for  a  moment,  looking  at  him,  her  eyes 
alight,  her  lips  smiling. 

"Thank  you!"  she  said.  "Thank  you,  and  God 
bless  you,  Arthur!" 


CHAPTER  LXI 

THE   DUCHESS   ACTS 

HPHE   Duchess   looked   at   the   clock.     "Exactly   on 
1      time,     Sunny     Ducrow,"     she    said.      "There's 
nothing  like  being  punctual;  when  one  grows  old  one 
has  to  economize  with  time.     Sit  down." 

Sunny  sat  down. 

"I  am  expecting  a  visitor,"  her  Grace  said.  "I've 
thought  over  all  you  told  me,  and  I've  thought  over  all 
that  Lady  Blessendale  said,  so  I've  decided  to  act.  It 
is  time  someone  acted." 

"Act?  "Sunny  said. 

"Oh,  my  dear,  don't  imagine  that  I  think  of  going  on 
the  stage  at  my  time  of  life;  nothing  of  the  sort !  I  am 
just  going  to  act  fairy  godmother,  or  something  of  the 
sort,  in  a  small  private  play  of  my  own." 

She  sat  bolt  upright,  listening,  then  she  smiled. 

"Imagine,  child,  that  the  curtain  has  now  gone  up. 
Stage  set,  characters  present,  an  elderly  lady  and  the 
heroine.  Door  opens  and  servant  announces — the 
villain." 

The  door  did  open. 

"Sir  Robert  Doveton,  your  Grace,  "  the  footman  said. 

Sunny  sat  up  suddenly.  Sir  Robert  came  in;  he 
did  not  see  her,  he  advanced  towards  the  little  old  lady 
effusively. 

"I  had  your  note,  your  Grace,  and  of  course  I  came 

at  once.     The  honor  of " 

45* 


The  Duchess  Acts  453 

He  held  out  his  hand,  but  her  Grace  did  not  apparently 
observe  it.  "I  think  you  have  met  Miss  Ducrow,  Sir 
Robert,"  she  said. 

Sir  Robert  started  visibly. 

"I — I  have  had  the  honor!"  he  stammered. 

He  turned  to  Sunny;  he  held  out  his  hind,  but  she  too 
stared  him  in  the  face.  He  let  his  hand  drop  awkwardly. 

"I  thought,"  her  Grace  said — "I  thought  it  much 
better  that  we  three  should  meet  here,  Sir  Robert,  to 
discuss  a  certain  little  matter  that  has  led  to  a  great  deal 
of  annoyance  and  misunderstanding. " 

"I  don't  think  I  quite  understand  what  your  Grace 


"Sit  down,"  she  said  abruptly. 

He  sat  down. 

"Now,"  she  folded  her  thin,  white  hands  together, 
"now  we  will,  if  you  please,  go  back  a  few  weeks.  You 
wrote  a  note  to  Miss  Ducrow  here,  asking  her  to  take 
supper  with  you?" 

"Yes,"  he  said;  he  looked  &t  Sunny. 

"He  did!  "she  said. 

"  You  were  waiting  outside  the  stage-door  of  the  theatre 
when  she  came  out." 

He  made  no  sign. 

"You  asked  her  to  go  with  you  to  the  El  Dorado, 
telling  her  that  you  had  booked  a  table  and  had  ordered 
a  supper,  eh?  I  am  correct?  If  I  am  not,  please  correct 
me." 

"So  far,"  he  said,  "all  is  correct." 

"  When  Miss  Ducrow  came  out  she  found  you  waiting 
there;  she  refused  to  go  with  you " 

"She — she  at  first — she  at  first — "  he  stammered. 
"That  is  to  say " 

"She  refused  to  go  with  you;  you  offered  to  order  a 
cab  for  her  to  go  home  in." 


454  Sunny  Ducrow 

"It's  true,"  Sunny  said.  "It's  true,  admit  it's  true! 
How  is  it  going  to  pay  you  to  tell  lies  about  me?  What 
have  I  ever  done  to  you  that  you  should  want  to  tell  lies 
about  me?" 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  he  stammered,  "I — I  don't 
tell  lies,  a  gentleman " 

"Permit  me,"  her  Grace  said.  "You  hailed  a  cab. 
Miss  Ducrow  gave  her  address  to  you;  instead  of  telling 
the  cabman  to  drive  her  home,  you  told  him  to  drive  to 
the  El  Dorado;  then  before  she  could  guess  what  was 
happening,  you  sprang  into  the  cab  after  her." 

"This  is—  "  he  began. 

"Wait!"  her  Grace  said.  "Wait,  please!  In  a  few 
moments  Miss  Ducrow  understood  the  position;  you 
told  her  that  she  would  have  to  go  to  supper  with  you. 
She  refused;  she  made  a  small  scene,  I  believe.  She 
insisted  on  stopping  the  cab  and  got  out." 

"This  is  not—"  he  began. 

"Of  course  the  evidence  of  the  cabman  is  worth  some- 
thing in  this  matter,"  her  Grace  said.  "The  cabman 
can  witness  that  after  he  had  travelled  only  a  few  yards, 
the  young  lady  made  him  stop,  and  that  she  alighted 
and  you  drove  on  alone." 

"The — the  cabman?"  he  said. 

"You  did  not  realize  the  possibility  of  the  cabman's 
number  having  been  taken?"  her  Grace  said.  "Admit 
sir,  that  the  cabman's  evidence  will  settle  the  whole 
matter!" 

She  rang  a  bell. 

"Sanders,"  she  said,  "the  next  time  I  ring,  bring  up 
the  man  who  is  waiting  downstairs." 

The  footman  bowed  and  went  out. 

"  Now,  Sir  Robert,  let  us  have  the  truth  of  the  matter," 
she  said. 

"The — the  truth  of  the  matter?"    He  laughed  un- 


The  Duchess  Acts  455 

easily.  "Well,  you  have  the  truth,  your  Grace;  it  is 
just  as  you  said.  I  admit  that  I  played  a  trick  on  Miss 
Ducrow,  and  she  was  extremely  angry.  She  made  the 
cab  stop,  and  she  got  out  and  went  away;  since  then  I 
have  not  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her." 

"Yet  you — you  told  Lord  Dobrington  a  lie!"  Sunny 
flamed.  "You  told  him  I  went  and  had  supper  with 
you,  and  went  to  some  club  or  other " 

"  A  j oke ! "  he  said.  ' '  Dobs  was  in  such  deadly  earnest 
that — that  I  thought  I'd  have  a  joke  at  his  expense!" 

"You  admit,"  her  Grace  said — "you  admit  that  you 
deliberately  lied  to  Lord  Dobrington?" 

"A  joke!  "he  said. 

"You  consider  it  a  joke  to  lie  about  a  young  lady,  to 
make  a  deliberate  misstatement,  to  accuse  her  of  some- 
thing that  was  not  true,  to  cause  her  annoyance  and 
pain!  You  have  a  curious  sense  of  humor!" 

She  rose,  her  cheeks  suddenly  reddened  with  anger. 
"Now  you  can  go,  and  if  it  is  any  consolation  to  you, 
Sir  Robert  Doveton,  if  it  is  any  satisfaction  to  you  to 
know  exactly  what  I  think  of  you,  I  will  tell  you !  You 
are  a  despicable  cur,  a  crafty,  lying  scoundrel,  and  if  I 
were  a  man  and  a  young  man,  I  should  enjoy  giving  you 
the  severe  thrashing  that  you  deserve.  Further,  let  me 
tell  you  this !  The  number  of  the  cabman  was  not  taken ; 
remember,  please,  that  I  never  deliberately  stated  that 
it  was.  The  man  who  is  waiting  downstairs  to  see  me 
is  from  Marples,  and  he  has  brought  some  patterns  of 
damask  to  re-upholster  my  bedroom  furniture.  You 
can  go,  sir,  and  I  shall  not  lose  an  opportunity  of  saying 
exactly  what  I  think  about  you!"  She  pointed  to  the 
door. 

He  went ;  at  the  door  he  hesitated,  opened  his  mouth, 
thought  better  of  it,  and  vanished. 

"And  now,  dear  child,"  her  ladyship  said,  "we  will 


456  Sunny  Ducrow 

have  tea;  but  first  of  all  I'd  like  you  to  help  select  a 
nice  pattern  for  my  bedroom  chairs. 

"Will  you  ring  the  bell,  my  dear,  for  the  man  to  come 
up?" 

Sunny  rose;  she  crossed  the  room  to  the  old  lady. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said.  "Thank  you!"  She  bent 
and  kissed  the  wrinkled  cheek. 

"My  dear,  it  was  the  least  I  could  do;  and  now — 
now  I  know  what  I  have  still  to  do." 


CHAPTER  LXII 

ASHES 

"KTO    Registry    Office   for    me,    thank    you!"    Mrs. 
1 N     Melkin  said. 

"But  if  you  want  a  servant,"  Evy  asked. 

"I'm  talking  of  getting  married.  Porkberry ,  he  wishes 
it  at  the  Registry  Office,  but  I  say  no!  He  said  he 
married  his  last  two  at  Registry  Offices." 

"Registrar's!"  Evy  said. 

"That's  the  new  way  of  pronouncing  it,  which  I 
don't  hold  with,"  Mrs.  Melkin  said.  "I  stood  out  for 
the  church;  but  understand,  I  won't  have  no  one  throw- 
ing no  rice  nor  confectionery  about." 

Mrs.  Melkin  was  wavering  between  pink  and  pale 
blue  for  her  bridal  costume,  white  being  denied  her. 
And  it  took  all  Sunny's  and  Evy's  eloquence  to  turn  her 
from  her  purpose.  A  pale,  pearly  gray  was  at  last  decided 
on,  though  Mrs.  Melkin  felt  that  she  was  relinquishing 
some  of  her  rights. 

It  was  on  the  day  before  the  opening  night  of  The  Lady 
Detective  that  the  double  wedding  took  place. 

There  were  very  few  people  in  the  church,  but  the 
hearts  of  the  few  who  were  there  went  out  to  Evy;  she 
looked  very  pretty,  very  happy,  and  very  young.  Mrs. 
Melkin  held  the  stage;  she  brandished  a  black-bordered 
pocket-handkerchief  and  wept  openly  throughout  the 
entire  ceremony.  It  took  her  back,  as  she  afterward 
explained,  to  that  happy  day  of  long  ago  when  she  had 
first  become  the  bride  of  Melkin,  rest  his  soul. 

457 


458  Sunny  Ducrow 

Sunny  thought  she  had  never  seen  Bert  to  worse  ad- 
vantage than  in  his  new  and  over-long  frock-coat  with 
the  gardenia  in  its  buttonhole  and  his  painfully  creased 
trousers.  To  crown  all,  when  Bert  knelt  at  the  altar, 
he  displayed  a  large  number  of  boot-protectors,  some- 
what similar  in  shape  to  quarter  oranges,  which  were 
sprinkled  over  the  soles  of  his  large-sized  boots.  But 
it  was  over  at  last,  and  so  was  the  wedding  breakfast, 
which  Sunny  gave  them  at  one  of  the  West  End  hotels. 

The  happy  pairs  had  driven  away  and  Sunny  went 
back  to  the  empty  rooms.  It  was  pretty  lonely,  pretty 
miserable;  another  might  have  sat  down  and  indulged 
in  a  cry.  But  Sunny  did  nothing  of  the  kind;  she  got 
out  her  part  and  threw  herself  into  the  study  of  it,  she 
forgot  to  be  lonely.  She  rehearsed  to  herself  and  then 
she  hurried  off  to  the  theatre  for  a  full-dress  rehearsal. 

The  curtain  came  down  the  next  night  on  a  brilliant 
success.  The  big  house  had  been  crowded  to  its  utmost ; 
for  a  change  the  play  was  bright  and  sparkling,  Sunny 's 
was  a  part  to  revel  in.  The  music  was  tuneful  and 
catchy,  the  people  went  away  humming  some  of  the 
numbers. 

Rostheimer,  large  and  important,  greasy,  with  a  huge 
cigar  in  his  face,  dominated  the  back  of  the  stage. 

"Dere,  ain't  I  ride?"  he  said.  "Ain'd  I  ride?  Dat 
Sunny 's  der  von!" 

"I  always  said  so;  but  for  you,  she'd  never  have  left 
us  at  all!  I  found  her,  you  didn't!"  Hemmingway  said. 
He  scowled  at  the  man  with  the  money  and  wished  him 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

Everyone  was  crowding  round  Sunny  congratulating 
her.  Yet  they  were  strange  faces;  in  spite  of  her  success 
Sunny  felt  just  a  little  lonely.  She  thought  of  the  chill, 
empty  rooms  when  she  should  get  back,  and  then  she 
saw  a  familiar  face. 


Ashes  459 

"Arthur!"  she  said.  "Were  you  in  the  house  all  the 
time?" 

He  nodded.  "Of  course;  ripping!"  he  said  briefly. 
"  It's  no  use  my  telling  you  what  all  the  others  have  been 
telling  you,  Sunny.  I'm  glad,  that's  all,  jolly  glad! 
You'll  wake  to-morrow  to  find  yourseh  famous;  you 
were  a  bit  in  that  line,  but  this" — he  paused — "this 
put  the  lid  on.  You're  bang  up  at  the  top  of  the  musical 
comedy  tree  now!" 

She  nodded.  "I  hoped  so,  I  suppose  so,"  she  said 
"Only,"  she  shivered,  "it's  a  little  cold,  isn't  it?" 

It  was  not ;  it  was  hot  there  behind  the  scenes. 

"You  are  tired,  girl,"  he  said  quietly.  "And  a  bit 
lonely;  you  miss  the  ancient  aunt  and  Evy  Cliff orde." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "you  understand." 

"So,  I  thought,  if  you'd  come,"  he  said;  he  hesitated. 
"I  know  it's  not  in  your  line,  but  just  this  once." 

"You  want  to  take  me  out,  Arthur?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  to  a  little  quiet  supper,  somewhere  where  we 
can  talk." 

"I'll  love  to  come!"  Sunny  said. 

He  had  hardly  hoped  for  it — had  not  expected  it. 

' '  That's  good ! "  he  said.     ' '  Get  ready ! ' ' 

It  was  a  very  quiet  little  restaurant  tucked  away 
somewhere  among  the  back  streets.  There  was  no  gay, 
glittering  throng  here,  the  few  people  who  came  in  for 
a  meal  came  for  that  purpose  and  nothing  else.  In  a 
corner  Curtiss  and  Sunny  had  a  little  table  to  themselves. 

The  triumph  of  the  night  was  over,  she  came  down  to 
earth,  she  talked  with  him  as  one  friend  with  another. 
She  told  him  her  plans,  a  little  red-and-white  house  at 
Sunnyville,  a  patch  of  garden  where  she  would  work  her- 
self; a  car,  of  course,  that  would  be  necessary;  but 
something  small,  inexpensive  to  run,  something  she 
might  be  able  to  drive  herself  sometimes. 


460  Sunny  Ducrow 

"And  I  remember,"  he  said,  "you  used  to  talk  of  an 
expensive  flat  and  a  big  fat  landaulette  of  fifty  horse- 
power or  more." 

"I  know,"  she  said;  "but  one  alters,  Arthur." 

"In  some  things;  in  some  things  one  never  alters," 
he  said. 

"One  thing  you  and  me  won't  alter  in,  Arthur,"  she 
said  softly.  "That  is,  being  friends ! " 

He  nodded  and  smiled  at  her.  Once  he  had  dared  to 
hope  for  so  much  more,  now  he  had  put  the  hopes  behind 
him.  He  must  be  content  with  the  crumbs. 

He  saw  her  home  to  her  own  door,  and  held  her  hand 
for  a  moment  longer,  perhaps,  than  was  necessary. 

"Good-night,  Sunny,"  he  said.  "Good-night,  dear; 
it's  been  a  big  success  for  you  to-night;  may  there  be 
many,  many  more  in  store,  and  may  the  great  happiness 
come  to  you  one  day!"  He  lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips 
and  turned  away  and  she  stood  there  with  the  key  of 
the  door  in  her  hand  watching  him;  but  she  did  not  see 
him  very  distinctly,  because  of  the  mist  before  her  eyes. 

"He's — he's  a  good  sort,  Arthur!"  she  whispered. 
"One  of  the  best!  If  only—"  She  paused.  She 
opened  the  door  and  went  in. 

She  went  up  the  stairs  to  the  empty  rooms,  and  then 
she  did  what  she  might  have  done  yesterday,  but  did 
not;  she  sat  down  and  had  a  good  cry. 


CHAPTER  LXIII 

LONELY 

OF  course  it  was  a  big  success;  some  of  the  more 
stately  and  important  of  the  daily  papers  devoted 
a  whole  column  to  a  review  of  The  Lady  Detective.  They 
spoke  of  the  charm  of  Posetti's  melodies,  the  bright 
and  sparkling  dialogues ;  most  of  all,  they  lauded  Sunny 
to  the  skies.  She  was  the  very  spirit  of  joy,  the  essence 
of  humor  and  of  fun:  she  was  a  consummate  actress. 
She  held  her  audience  spellbound.  She  was  the  life 
?"d  soul  of  the  whole  play  from  beginning  to  end,  and 
FO  on  and  so  on. 

Sunny  skimmed  through  four  or  five  of  the  more  im- 
portant critiques,  threw  the  papers  aside,  and  made  a 
good  breakfast.  Then  she  put  on  her  hat  and  went  out; 
she  took  the  train  to  Havers  and  walked  to  Sunnyville, 
and  spent  the  morning  worrying  Johnson. 

"What's  your  trouble,"  Sunny  said,  "is  you  don't 
get  a  move;  you  look  round  and  say  everything  is  lovely, 
aren't  we  doing  nicely?  Then  you  shut  your  eyes  and 
get  dreaming  about  it.  What  you  want  is  to  get  moving 
all  the  time,  and  it's  to  help  you  keep  moving  that  I'm 
coming  here." 

"You  coming  here?"  he  said.     "What  for?" 

"Only  to  live,"  Sunny  said.  "I'm  going  to  have 
that  last  cottage." 

Johnson  groaned.  "Then  there  won't  be  any  more 
peace  for  me." 

461 


462  Sunny  Ducrow 

"There's  never  going  to  be  any  peace  for  you,"  Sunny 
said,  "till  every  hotel,  every  restaurant,  every  private 
house  in  the  land  has  got  John  Crow  pickles  and  jams 
on  their  tables." 

"As  it  is,"  Johnson  said,  "we're  working  up  to  full 
strength.  We  can't  do  any  more  unless  we  put  down 
fresh  boiling  plant." 

"Then  put  it  down!"  Sunny  said. 

"We've  got  nowhere  to  put  it." 

"Then  for  goodness'  sake  build,  that's  what  I  say. 
You  say  you  can't  do  any  more  and  you  don't  do  it; 
but  we're  going  to  do  it!  What  more  boiling  plant  do 
you  want  ?  " 

He  explained.  Sunny  and  he  put  their  heads  together; 
the  stage,  her  success  of  last  night,  was  miles  and  miles 
away,  out  of  her  mind  altogether.  She  went  into  figures, 
discussed  cubes,  squares,  and  feet  frontages  till  Johnson's 
head  turned. 

"I've  got  it,"  she  said.  "Those  are  the  plans;  I'll 
rush  back  and  talk  to  that  architect  chap  and  get  him 
to  set  to  work." 

"But,"  he  said,  "we  ought  to  get  it  passed  by  a  board 
of  directors;  it'll  cost  three  thousand." 

"We'll  get  it  passed  when  they've  made  a  start," 
Sunny  said.  "What's  the  use  of  sitting  down  waiting? 
Of  course  the  directors  will  pass  it,  they've  got  to." 

And  so,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  did. 

Sunny  had  moved,  she  had  taken  possession  of  one  of 
the  smallest  of  the  red-and- white  cottages ;  she  had  spent 
half  a  week's  pay  on  furnishing  it. 

Among  the  earliest  of  her  visitors  was  Arthur  Curtiss. 
He  looked  about  him,  he  saw  a  small  kitchen  with  deal 
furniture,  a  red  brick  floor,  a  number  of  well-polished 
tins  on  the  high  mantelpiece. 

Sunny  took  him  to  the  sitting-room,  it  was  smaller 


Lonely  463 

than  the  kitchen;  there  were  a  bookcase,  a  small  oval 
table  of  oak,  three  chairs,  an  oak  dresser.  The  floor 
was  stained,  and  there  were  three  rugs  at  twenty-nine 
and  eleven  each. 

"But  this  isn't  what — what  you — you  planned, 
Sunny,"  he  said.  "  I  thought  you  meant  to  have  rooms 
just  like  Leslie  Montressor's  ? " 

"That's  how  I  used  to  think.  I  was  a  child  then; 
one  changes,"  she  said  quietly.  "One  changes  one's 
ideas,  Arthur;  I've  changed  mine." 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  arm  with  the  old  affectionate 
gesture.  She  knew  that  she  could  trust  this  man,  trust 
him  in  every  possible  way. 

"I  remember,"  he  said,  "you  used  to  talk  of  sofy 
cushions  on  the  floor." 

She  laughed.     "  Come  and  see  the  other  rooms. " 

There  were  only  two  others,  one  her  bedroom.  He 
entered  it  almost  reverently  and  looked  about  him. 

A  plain  little  room  with  attic  windows,  a  small  white 
bed,  a  painted  suite  of  furniture,  and  clean  scrubbed  floors, 
with  a  mat  or  two  laid  here  and  there. 

"Once,"  she  said,  "I  used  to  picture  the  grand  bed- 
room I  was  to  have  some  day.  I  remember  that  crimson 
velvet  played  a  big  part  in  it,  Arthur.  Crimson  velvet 
and  draperies  round  the  bed.  I  think  the  bed  was  to 
have  been  of  solid  gold,  I  forget  now!"  She  laughed 
again. 

"The  other  room's  empty,  yet  some  day  I  shall  get 
a  maid." 

"Do  you  live  here  alone,  then,  Sunny?" 

She  nodded.     ' '  Of  course. ' ' 

"And  do  everything  for  yourself,  clean  and  all  that?" 

"Everything!  I  like  it,  love  it,  it  gives  me  something 
to  do,  and  prevents  me  worrying  poor  old  Johnson  into 
his  grave.  Come  and  sit  down  and  I'll  get  lunch." 


464  Sunny  Ducrow 

She  had  cooked  it  herself,  this  lunch,  and  he  was 
frankly  amazed. 

"Sunny,  is  there  anything  you  can't  do?" 

"A  good  many  things,"  she  said.  "But  if  you  mean 
the  cooking,  cooking's  dead  easy!"  She  laughed.  "A 
girl  who  can't  cook  has  no  business  to  eat ! " 

"You  are  a  wonder!"  he  said.  "Just  now  you  said 
that  there  were  some  things  you  couldn't  do,  tell  me  one 
of  them." 

She  shook  her  head,  her  face  flushed.  "One  day, 
I — I  may,"  she  said,  "but  not  now!" 

He  came  often;  she  was  always  glad  to  see  him.  He 
had  lunch  with  her  in  the  little  kitchen,  and  she  cooked 
it  herself  for  them.  Somehow  Sunny  never  got  the  little 
servant-maid  she  was  always  promising  herself.  She 
was  in  no  hurry. 

Every  evening  at  half-past  five  she  shut  the  door  of 
the  little  red-and-white  cottage  and  got  into  her  small 
car  and  drove  to  the  theatre. 

The  Lady  Detective  was  having  a  brilliant  run.  Night 
after  night  the  "  House  Full "  boards  were  put  up  outside. 
Hemmingway  rubbed  his  hands,  the  receipts  were  beyond 
his  expectations.  Even  Rostheimer  went  about  with  a 
fat  smile  on  his  face. 

"Good  liddle  Sunny  Ducrow,  she  make  dis  go  all 
ride,"  he  said.  "You  ought  to  dank  me  for  gedding 
her  back,  Max!" 

"You  go  to  the  dickens,"  Hemmingway  said.  "I  got 
lier  in  the  first  place;  she  would  never  have  left  but 
for  you!" 

"Look  here,  do  you  want  to  quarrel  mit  me?"  Ros- 
theimer demanded. 

Hemmingway  stared  him  in  the  eyes,  the  box-office 
receipts  gave  him  a  feeling  of  independence. 

<:l  don't  care  a  hang  one  way  or  the  other;  if  you 


Lonely  465 

feel  like  quarrelling,  let 's  have  it  out ! "  he  said.  ' '  And  if 
you  want  to  clear  out  of  it,  you  cau,  there's  nothing  to 
stop  you!" 

But  Rostheimer  caved  in,  like  the  fat  coward  he  was. 

And  so  the  days  and  the  weeks  swelled  into  months 
and  The  Lady  Detective  still  drew  full  houses,  and  seemed 
as  if  its  popularity  would  never  wane.  Posetti  wrote 
new  songs  for  Sunny,  and  Sunny  sang  them,  and  the 
organs  played  them,  and  the  street  boys  whistled  them; 
and  the  name  of  Sunny  Ducrow  was  as  well  known,  if 
not  better,  than  that  of  any  Cabinet  Minister  throughout 
the  land. 

And  Sunny  lived  on  in  the  little  red-and-white  cottage, 
and  sang  as  she  scrubbed  her  white  floors  and  dusted  her 
little  ornaments  or  polished  the  tins  in  the  kitchen. 

Sometimes  Evy  and  Bert  came  to  see  her  and  stayed 
a  night.  Once  Mrs.  Porkberry  and  her  new  husband 
came,  but  it  was  a  trial.  He  was  humble  and  effusive, 
and  Mrs.  Porkberry  spoke  of  the  past  and  wept  copiously. 
Sunny  was  glad  to  see  them  go,  and  slipped  a  ten-pound 
note  into  Porkberry 's  hot,  moist  hand  at  parting. 

It  was  Thursday  to-day,  and  Thursday  was  Curtiss's 
day.  He  always  came  on  Thursday  and  had  lunch  with 
Sunny  and  inspected  the  jam  factory. 

Sunny,  with  a  cookery  book  propped  up  open  against 
a  jam  pot  on  the  kitchen  table,  was  struggling  more  or 
less  successfully  with  a  new  dish. 

"Take  the  yolks  of  two  new-laid  eggs,  separate  from 
the  whites,  and  beat,"  she  read  aloud.  "  I've  done  that! 
— One  ounce  of  castor  sugar  and  half  a  pint  of  milk, 
when  cream  can't  be  procured — well  it  can,  half  a  pint 
of  milk  and — "  She  paused,  it  was  the  sound  of 
wheels,  a  car  had  arrived  and  pulled  up  outside  the  door. 
It  was  Arthur. 

Sunny  turned  her  flushed  face  towards  the  window, 

30 


466  Sunny  Ducrow 

saw  the  tail  end  of  a  car,  and  called  out  cheerily.  "  Come 
in!" 

He  came  in ;  he  stood  in  the  doorway. 

"I'm  making  a  stunning  pudding  for  you!"  she  said. 
"It's  like  this — you  take  the  yolks  of  two  new-laid 
eggs — "  She  paused,  she  looked  up,  the  color  faded 
from  her  cheeks. 

4 '  Sunny ! "  the  man  said,  ' '  Sunny ! ' ' 

Sunny  held  out  both  hands,  she  gripped  the  edge  of 
the  table.  ' '  Stan ! ' '  she  whispered.  ' '  I — I  didn't  know. 
I  didn't  know!" 


CHAPTER  LXIV 

WHY   IT   DIED 

DOBRINGTON  came  into  the  room;  he  looked 
leaner,  a  shade  older,  tanned.  His  absence  had 
done  him  good,  his  appearance  had  improved  generally. 
Sunny  saw  it  all  in  a  flash,  just  as  she  saw  everything 
with  one  glance  from  her  bright  eyes.  She  held  out  a 
small  hand. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Stan,"  she  said,  and  wondered  in- 
wardly why  her  voice  never  trembled,  why  she  should 
feel  so  cool  and  at  her  ease. 

"Only  that,  Sunny?"  he  asked.  He  held  her  hand 
tightly. 

"Only  that  and — and  won't  you  sit  down?"  she  said, 
disengaging  her  hand.  "Let's  see,  how  long  have  you 
been  away?  Months  and  months,  isn't  it?  Time  flies, 
doesn't  it!" 

"It  hasn't  for  me,  every  hour  has  been  an  eternity 
since  I  saw  you  last!"  he  said. 

Sunny  laughed.  "That's  a  nice  way  of  putting  it, 
Stan!" 

"Sunny,  I — I've  been  a  fool!"  he  cried. 

Sunny  nodded.  "Most  have!"  she  said.  "Aren't 
you  going  to  sit  down,  Stan,  or  are  you  in  a  hurry?" 

He  sat  down,  he  drew  a  chair  close  to  the  little  kitchen 
table. 

"  Sunny,  this — this  isn't  the  welcome  I  had  hoped  for, 
dreamed  of!"  he  said. 

467 


468  Sunny  Ducrow 

"What  welcome  do  you  want,  Stan?  I'm  glad  to 
see  you  looking  so  well.  I'm  always  glad  to  see  old 
friends  again,  and  you  are  one  of  my  closest  and  best 
friends!" 

"Only  that?"  he  said. 

"Stan,  what  made  you  come  back  so  quick?  I  was 
told  you'd  gone  to  stay  for  a  long  time.  Why  did  you 
come  back,  and  what  made  you  come  here  to  look  me 
up?"  She  looked  him  straight  in  the  face. 

"I — I  had  a  letter,  a  letter  from  the  Duchess,  God 
bless  her!"  Dobrington  said. 

"She's  an  old  dear,  God  bless  her!"  Sunny  said.  "I 
wish  there  were  more  like  her!" 

"She  told  me  the  whole  truth,  Sunny;  she  wrote  me 
sharply,  not  more  sharply  than  I  deserved.  She  was 
frank  and  outspoken;  she  told  me  exactly  what  she 
thought  of  me." 

"It's  her  way!"  Sunny  said. 

Dobrington  rose  suddenly.  "And  she  was  right,  I 
have  been  a  fool,  a  mad,  hopeless  suspicious  fool,  Sunny ! " 

"Something  like  that!"  Sunny  said. 

"Sunny — "  He  paused;  he  looked  at  her.  "Sunny, 
I  have  brought  a  message  from  my  mother  to  you." 

"Last  time  I  see  her,"  Sunny  said,  "she  didn't  seem 
as  if  she  wanted  to  send  me  any  valentines." 

"She  was  wrong,  as  I  was  wrong;  she  realized  it  and 
is  sorry,  she  regrets  the  past,  Sunny,  she  asks  me  to  tell 
you  so  and  ask  you  to  forgive." 

"There's  nothing  to  forgive,"  Sunny  said.  "She 
was  right  in  her  way;  she  believed  what  she  heard,  and 
she  was  right.  After  all,  you're  her  son,  and  a  mother's 
got  the  right  to  do  the  best  she  can  for  her  son,  I  don't 
blame  her;  if  it  had  been  me  I  dare  say  I  would  have  been 
just  the  same." 

"Then  you  do  forgive?" 


Why  It  Died  469 

"There's  nothing  to  forgive  her!"  Sunny  said. 

"Sunny,  do  you  forgive  me?" 

She  nodded.  "Of  course,  Stan.  You  didn't  know 
me  well  enough  to  trust  me,  that's  all!"  she  said.  "It 
wasn't  your  fault !  It  was  just  because  you  didn't  know 
me  well  enough." 

"I  did  not  then,  but  I  do  now  Sunny.  I  have  come 
— back  to  you.  Don't  you  understand  why — why  I 
hurried  back,  why  I  lost  not  one  moment  in  returning 
here  as  soon  as  I  got  that  letter?  I  am  here,  dear,  to 
tell  you  I  am  sorry,  to  tell  you  that  I  despise  myself. 
I  ask  you  to  forgive  me,  dear.  Sunny  will  you?" 

"Of  course  I  do,  Stan!"  She  held  out  her  hand. 
"We're  just  the  same  friends  as  ever!" 

"Friends!  You  don't  think  I  came  back  for  that?" 
he  said.  "  I  came  back  because  in  all  this  world  you  are 
the  only  girl  I  love,  the  only  one  I  shall  ever  love!" 

She  shook  her  head  slowly  till  her  curls  danced. 
"You  thought  you  did,  Stan,  but  you  did  not!"  she 
said  quietly.  "Love  means  something  more  than  mere 
words.  If  I  loved  anyone" — she  paused — "if  I  loved 
anyone  truly  and  with  all  my  heart,  I'd  believe  in  'em 
all  through  everything;  I  wouldn't  go  rushing  to  the 
other  side  of  the  world  without  a  word,  without  giving 
them  a  chance  to  explain";  she  paused  again.  "If  I 
loved  anyone,  Stan,  nothing  on  this  earth  'ud  make  me 
believe  ill  of  them.  I'd  hold  to  them  and  trust  them 
and —  She  broke  off  suddenly.  "Oh,  what's  the 
use?"  she  cried.  "I  s'pose  a  woman  loves  different  to 
a  man,  Stan,  and  that's  just  all  there  is  to  it!  I'm 
making  a  pudding,  I  expected  a  visitor.  It's  getting  to 
be  a  bit  late  now,  and  I  don't  suppose  he'll  come  after 
all!" 

"He?" 

"  Arthur  CurtissS" 


47<>  Sunny  Ducrow 

"Sunny,  I — I  can't  bear  this.  Sunny,  you  know  why 
I  have  come  rushing  back  to  you  from  the  ends  of  the 
earth!  You  know  what  is  in  my  heart;  you  know  that 
I  loved  you,  dear,  with  all  my  heart,  with  all  my  soul, 
I  believe,  before  I  went  away.  My  love  for  you  now  is 
\  greater  even  than  it  was  then.  My  mother  knows,  she 
understands.  She  told  me  to  remind  you  of  words  that 
she  had  once  uttered  in  your  presence;  so  long  as  the 
girl  I  chose  was  honorable,  true,  and  good,  she  would 
not  oppose  my  wishes,  if  even  she  was  only  a  flower-girl, 
out  of  the  street,  a  beggar." 

"Or  a  girl  off  the  stage!"  Sunny  said,  "I  remember!" 

"And  so,  with  her  consent,  with  her  good  wishes, 
Sunny,  I  have  come  back  to  you,"  he  said.  "Come  to 
you  this  day  to  ask  you  to  be  my  wife,  to  forgive  and 
forget  my  folly,  my  distrust,  and  lack  of  faith  in  you. 
And  you  love  me,  dear,  I  know  you  love  me,  you  have 
admitted  It.  You  do  not  forget?" 

"I  don't  forget,  I  did  love  you,"  she  paused.  "Stan, 
I  loved  you  terribly — "  She  smiled  slowly.  "It  all 
seems  so  long  ago.  I'd  have  given  up  life,  I  think,  if  I 
could  have  done  you  good.  There  wasn't  anyone  in 
the  world  for  me  but  you.  But  I  am  only  a  girl  off  the 
stags  and  you  are " 

"The  man  who  loves  you!"  he  said  quietly. 

"And  didn't  trust  me!"  she  said  quietly.  "I  loved 
you  till  that  day,  till  those  days  of  watching  and  waiting, 
then  I  understood.  You  had  gone  away  without  one 
word  to  me;  you  despised  me  and  looked  down  on  me, 
yet  never  gave  me  the  chance  that  the  law  even  gives 
to  a  prisoner  to  say  if  he's  guilty  or  innocent.  And — 
and  that  hurt,  Stan,  and  then,  little  by  little  I  got  to 
understand  that  your  love  for  me  couldn't  have  been 
so  much  after  all,  there  wasn't  any  faith  nor  trust  with 
it,  Stan,  and  I  got  thinking" — she  paused,  there  was  a 


Why  It  Died  47i 

dreamy,  far-away  look  in  her  eyes — "I  got  thinking; 
I'm  very  young  yet,  only  just  turned  seventeen,  only  a 
kid!  It'll  be  a  long,  long  time  before  I  think  of  getting 
married,  if  I  ever  do.  Your  liking  me  and  loving  me 
and  you  being  who  you  are,  it  all  flattered  me  and  made 
me  think  that  I  cared  a  whole  lot!" 

"And — and  you  didn't  Sunny?"  he  asked.  "Sunny, 
you  didn't  care  for  me  then?" 

"I  did,"  she  said.  "I  did,  and  if  you  hadn't  gone 
away,  I'd  have  gone  on  caring  and  the  real  love  would 
have  come,  Stan,  born  of  your  trust  in  me,  the  great 
love — "  She  hesitated.  "I'm  not  good  at  talking, 
only  down  in  my  heart  I  know  just  what  I  mean,  only 
I  can't  explain.  I  can't  make  you  understand  just  like 
I  understand  myself.  There  was  no  one  but  you,  Stan, 
and  I  liked  to  think  you  loved  me  and  I  loved  you ;  and 
when  you  went  it  hurt  terrible!  I  felt  as  if  I  didn't 
want  to  live;  then  I  got  thinking,  thinking  that  your 
love  couldn't  have  been  so  much  or  you'd  have  trusted 
me  better,  and  so,  little  by  little " 

"Your  love  for  me  died!"  he  said  bitterly. 

"The — the  something  in  me  that  was  growing  into 
love  for  you  died,"  she  said.  "Yes,  that's  what  I  mean 
— something  like  that,  only  just  a  little  different.  Oh, 
I've  thought  of  it,  hours  and  hours  I've  sat  in  this  little 
room  and  tried  to  understand,  but  I  couldn't  quite. 
And  then" — she  flushed  suddenly — "then  I  understood 
at  last!"  She  held  out  her  hands  to  him  suddenly, 
"Stan,  we'll  be  friends  all  our  lives,  dear,  won't  we?" 

He  caught  her  hand  and  crushed  it  tightly  in  his 
own. 

"Only  friends,  Sunny?"  he  whispered. 

"Only  friends,  Stan!"  she  said. 

"But — but  don't  you  understand;  I  came  back  from 
the  ends  of  the  world,  I  came  here  to-day  with  my 


472  Sunny  Ducrow 

mother's  consent,  her  good  wishes,  her  desire  almost  to 
ask  you  to  be  my  wife,  dear!" 

"I  know,  only  it  can't  be,  Stan!"  she  said.  "Your 
going  away  made  just  the  difference.  It's  like — it's 
like" — she  hesitated,  a  smile  rippled  on  her  lips — "it's 
like  the  pudding  I  was  making  when  you  came,  Stan; 
if  I  had  gone  straight  on  with  that  pudding  it  would 
have  been  lovely,  there'd  have  been  nothing  wrong; 
now — now  because  I  had  to  stop  in  the  middle  of  making 
it,  the  milk's  got  burnt,  and  the  eggs  won't  beat  up  nicely, 
and  oh — a  dozen  things!  It  was  just  the  breaking  off 
that  done  it,  Stan,  and  the  pudding's  no  good,  no  good 
at  all !  It'll  have  to  go  into  the  dustbin  after  all ! " 

"I  see,"  he  said,  "I  see:  then  there  is  no  hope  for  me  ?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I've  ruined  my  chances  with  you,  flung  everything 
away?"  he  said. 

"You  didn't  trust  me,  Stan,  not  as  you  would  if  you 
had  really  loved  me!"  she  said.  "And — and  that's  all 
there  is  to  it !  But  I'm  glad  to  see  you  back  again,  glad 
to  see  you  looking  so  well ;  you  look  lots  better  than  you 
did  when  you  went  away.  You  haven't  said  anything 
about  my  little  house!  This  is  where  I  live,  Stan,  this 
is  my  home." 

He  did  not  speak,  he  strode  across  the  room  and 
stared  out  of  the  window.  She  went  to  him  and  touched 
him  on  the  arm. 

"Stan,  I'm  sorry,  dear!"  she  said.  "I'm  sorry  for 
you,  and  sorry  for  myself  too,  a  bit.  Only,  after  all, 
it's  better  this  way;  I  wasn't  ever  good  enough,  not  your 
• — your  class,  Stan!  Your  mother  would  never  have 
been  happy  about  it,  your  friends  would  have  laughed; 
everyone  knows  Sunny  Ducrow  now.  They'd  have 
spoken  slightingly  of  you  and  of  me,  Stan.  They  would 
never  have  forgotten  that  you'd  married  a  girl  off  the 


Why  It  Died  473 

stage,  a  girl  who  began  at  the  bottom  and — and  did  her 
best  to  climb  up;  only  that  won't  count  with  them! 
They'll  only  think  of  the  slum  she  came  out  of,  and 
forget  the  hard  struggle  she  had  to  lift  herself  out  of  it, 
Stan!". 

"Do  you  think  I  care?"  he  cried.  "Do  you  think  I 
care  what  others  say?  I  love  you,  love  you,  Sunny. 
I  don't  care  what  anyone  says  or  thinks,  I  am  beyond 
that!" 

' '  Now, ' '  she  said,  ' '  but  one  day  it  would  count.  Stan, 
don't,  it's  all  over  dear,  over  and  done  with.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  you  did  the  best  thing  for  yourself  when  you 
didn't  trust  me  and  went  away.  One  day  you'll  think 
so,  I  dare  say!" 

"And — and  all  the  time,"  he  cried  in  sudden  passion, 
"you — you  played  the  fool  with  me,  you  pretended, 
you — "  He  paused;  her  eyes  met  his,  he  saw  pain 
and  wonder  in  them. 

"Sunny,  I'm  sorry!"  he  said.  He  caught  her  hand 
and  held  it  tightly.  "And  this  is  your  answer,  your 
last,  your  final  answer  to  me?  It  is — not  to  be?" 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  moment;  her  bright  eyes 
met  his  frankly,  then  she  sighed,  she  laughed  a  little. 

"It  is  not  to  be,"  she  said,  "it  can't  be  now,  it  all  got 
spoiled,  Stan,  because  you  went  away !  You  aren't  going  ? ' ' 

He  nodded;  he  was  at  the  door. 

"I  thought  you'd  stay  and — and  have  lunch  with 
me,  it's  my  own  cooking,  Stan!"  she  said. 

"Thank  you,  no,  I  won't  stay;  you  have  given  me 
my  answer,  Sunny,  I  am  going,  good-bye!"  He  held 
out  his  hand. 

The  tears  came  into  her  eyes.  "I  don't  want  to  part 
with  you  like  this,"  she  said. 

"Good-bye!"  he  said  again.  "Good-bye,  I  am  sorry 
I  came  back!" 


474  Sunny  Ducrow 

She  shivered  a  little.  "Good-bye,  then,  Stan!"  she 
said  gently,  "if — if  you  feel  like  that  about  it!" 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  am  sorry  I  came  back.  I — I  might 
have  known  a  girl  like  you  would  change !  You  are  right, 
you  were  only  a  child,  there  was  no  reality  in  your  love, 
it  was  merely  a  fancy,  a  passing  fancy  for  me.  I  suppose 
I  should  be  proud  that  I  awakened  your  liking  if  only 
for  a  little  while.  Good-bye,  Sunny!" 

"Good-bye,  Stan,"  she  said  quietly. 

He  held  her  hand  tightly  for  a  moment  and  looked 
into  her  face. 

"I  might  have  known,"  he  said;  "off  with  the  old 
love  and  on  with  the  new!"  He  laughed  bitterly.  "I 
suppose  you  forgot  me  as  soon  as  I  was  gone!  Well, 
there's  nothing  more  to  say ;  I  was  a  fool  to  go,  a  bigger 
fool  to  come  back !  Good-bye ! " 

"Good-bye!"  she  said  gently. 

He  was  gone.  She  heard  him  go  out,  heard  the  engine 
of  the  car  start  up,  heard  the  gears  go  in  and  the  sound 
of  the  tires  turning  on  the  ground.  Gone! 

She  stood  by  the  mantelpiece  and  looked  down  into 
the  fire.  How  easily  he  had  shifted  all  the  blame  of  it 
from  his  own  shoulders  on  to  hers!  The  tears  welled 
in  her  eyes  and  trickled  slowly  down  her  cheeks — unusual 
tears. 

"  He's  hurt  and  angry ! "  she  thought.  "  Oh,  it  doesn't 
matter  what  he  thought!"  she  muttered.  "And  it  was 
easiest  for  him  to  think  it  was  my  fault ;  if  he  had  never 
gone  away,  I'd  have  gone  on  loving  him,  and  then  I  s'pose 
one  day  my  love — my  little  love  for  him  would  have 
become  a  great  love,  that's  what  I  meant  to  tell  him, 
but  couldn't.  It  was  a  little  love,  a  child's  love,  but  it 
could  have  grown  and  got  stronger,  bigger  and  better 
if  it  had  been  allowed  to  stand  in  the  sunshine.  But 
it  wasn't,  it  was  pushed  away  in  a  dark  corner;  it  tried 


Why  It  Died  475 

to  live,  it  made  a  bit  of  a  struggle  and  then — then  it 
just  died!"  She  laughed  softly  and  wiped  the  tears 
away. 

"But  it  died,"  she  whispered.  "Yes,  it  died,  it  died. 
I  knew  it  when  I  saw  him;  I  didn't  know  it  quite  till 
then,  it  died  all  right!" 


CHAPTER  LXV 

THE  THING  SHE  COULD  NOT  DO 

A  RTHUR  CURTISS  did  not  come  to  luncheon  that 
/v  day,  nor  the  next ;  a  whole  week  passed.  Sundays 
he  often  came,  and  Sunny  watched  for  him  this  Sun- 
day morning,  but  he  did  not  come  to  Sunnyville,  so 
Sunny  got  out  the  little  car,  which  she  had  learned  to 
drive  herself,  and  she  drove  to  see  Bert  and  Evy. 

Bert  was  struggling  with  a  new  play  which,  with  his 
wife's  help,  he  was  writing  round  Sunny.  She  wanted 
to  find  out  how  it  was  getting  on.  It  was  a  tiny  box  of 
a  place,  almost  as  small  as  her  own  wee  cottage,  but 
rather  more  elaborate  as  regards  its  furnishings. 

There  was  a  change  in  Bert,  a  very  distinct  change 
for  the  better.  He  had  thrown  off  his  slouch;  he  held 
his  head  up;  there  was  in  his  eyes  an  expression  of  con- 
fidence, of  greater  self-respect.  He  spoke  with  less  un- 
certainty; he  even  flushed  when  he  talked  of  the  play, 
and  the  light  of  enthusiasm  glowed  in  his  eyes. 

Sunny  saw  it.  She  looked  at  him  and  nodded  appre- 
ciatively. 

"She's  going  to  do  him  a  heap  of  good;  she's  making 
a  man  of  Bert,  getting  him  out  of  the  old  rut!"  she 
thought ;  and  she  was  right. 

Evy,  in  her  own  way,  was  ten  times  more  clever  than 
Bert;  better  educated,  her  outlook  on  life  was  broader; 
she  knew  a  great  deal  that  he  had  never  dreamed  of. 
He  was  a  child  compared  with  this  sweet-faced  life  ?a 

476 


The  Thing  She  Could  Not  Do   477 

wife  of  his.  Yet  to  see  them  together,  to  hear  them,  one 
would  think  that  he  was  an  epitome  of  wisdom  and  she 
an  ignorant  little  thing.  She  appealed  to  him  every 
moment ;  she  strove  to  put  confidence  into  him,  and  she 
succeeded.  In  a  quiet,  unostentatious  way,  Evy  was 
educating  her  husband,  and  Sunny  saw  it.  She  heard 
Bert  hold  forth  enthusiastically  on  subjects  of  which,  a 
few  months  ago,  he  had  been  entirely  ignorant.  He  had 
self-assurance  which  he  had  never  possessed  before. 

"You're  the  cleverest  girl  I  ever  saw;  how  clever  you 
are!"  Sunny  whispered  to  Evy  when  they  were  alone. 
"You  are  the  cleverest  girl  and  the  best!" 

"Clever,  I?"  Evy  flushed.  "Why?  I  don't  under- 
stand; what  do  you  mean,  Sunny?" 

"You're  making  Bert;  you've  made  him,  he's  different, 
he's  a  man  now !  He's  got  something  in  him ;  he  always 
had,  come  to  that,  but  he  was  afraid  of  himself,  didn't 
trust  himself!  You're  teaching  him  to  believe  in  him- 
self a  bit,  and  it's  the  best  thing  you  ever  did,  Evy!" 

"Sunny,  do — do  you  think  I  am  succeeding?"  Evy 
asked. 

"I  know  you  are;  Bert's  different,  I  wouldn't  have 
believed  it!  Only,  Evy,  be  careful,  don't  let  him  get 
too  much  the  other  way;  don't  let  him  get  thinking 
too  much  of  himself  and  too  little  of  you!  If  he  does, 
I'll  have  a  word  to  say  to  Bert!" 

Evy  smiled;  she  shook  her  head.  "That's  where 
you  are  wrong!"  she  said.  "You  understand  Bert  all 
right,  but  Bert  is  very,  very  good  to  me,  and  we  are 
very  happy,  Sunny.  I  think  I  know  we  shall  be  happier 
and  happier  as  the  years  pass.  We  understand  one 
another,  Bert  and  I!" 

Sunny  smiled.  "That's  where  you  make  a  mistake!" 
she  said.  "You  understand  Bert  all  right,  but  he  doesn't 
understand  you;  he  thinks  he  does,  but  he  doesn't!  No 


Sunny  Ducrow 

man  ever  does  understand  a  woman  properly  yet,  and  I'll 
bet  you  that  to  the  last  day  of  your  lives  Bert'll  never 
quite  understand  his  wife;  and  it's  just  as  well  he 
shouldn't!" 

"I  don't  understand  you,  Sunny!"  Evy  cried.  "I 
hide  nothing  from  Bert,  there's  nothing  in  the  past  that 
I  haven't  told  him!" 

"I  don't  mean  that!"  Sunny  said. 

"I  don't  understand  what  you  do  mean,  Sunny,  dear!" 

Sunny  shook  her  head:  "When  you  are  as  old  as  me, 
Evy " 

"As  old  as  you,  I'm  years  older  than  you  are,  you 
child!" 

"In  some  ways  I'm  a  lot  older  than  you!"  Sttnny  said. 
"A  lot,  a  lot,  Evy!" 

The  tiny  cottage  in  Sunnyville  seemed  very  empty 
to-night.  Sunny  shivered  a  little  as  she  lighted  the  gas. 
It  was  lonely  coming  back  here  to  the  emptiness,  the 
more  so  by  comparison  with  the  happy  little  home  she 
had  just  left  behind  her. 

"Anyhow,  it  don't  matter  about  me,"  she  thought. 
"Bert's  happy  and  Evy's  happy,  and  even  aunt  is 
happy  as  she'll  ever  be  in  this  world,  and  me!  if  I  am 
a  bit  lonely,  I  s'pose  it's  my  own  fault!  But  I  know 
what  I'll  do,  I  know!"  She  nodded  her  head. 

The  idea  had  been  in  her  head  for  a  long  time.  "  I'll 
get  a  woman  to  come  and  do  for  me,"  she  thought,  "and 
I'll  have  dear  old  Gibbins  here;  it's  getting  to  be  too 
much  his  coming  down  here  four  days  a  week.  I'll 
have  him  here,  get  rooms  for  him  next  door  with  Mrs. 
Bagley,  and  he'll  be  happy  as  a  king,  bless  his  old  heart ! " 

With  Sunny  to  decide  was  to  act  immediately.  Three 
days  later  old  Gibbins  was  installed  in  Mrs.  Bagley's 
front  bedroom,  as  happy  as  a  king,  as  Sunny  had  said  he 
would  be.  But  Sunny 's  house  was  his  home;  he  took 


The  Thing  She  Could  Not  Do   479 

his  meals  with  her,  they  roamed  about  the  place  together 
and  talked  to  one  another,  and  there  was  a  perpetual 
smile  on  the  old  man's  face. 

"God  has  been  very  good  to  me,  Sunny,"  he  said, 
"very,  very  good  to  me!" 

"And  to  me!"  Sunny  said  quietly.  "It's  right  about 
— about  His  helping  those  that  help  themselves." 

The  old  man  put  his  hand  affectionately  on  her  arm. 

"We've  helped  one  another  a  little,  little  Sunny," 
he  said.  "And  He  has  helped  us  both.  I'm  very, 
very  happy  here,  happier  than  I  ever  thought  I  should 
be!  Happier,  my  dear,  perhaps  than  I  deserve  to  be!" 
He  paused,  his  hand  tightened  on  her  arm  for  a  moment. 
Sunny  looked  up  at  him  and  saw  the  tears  in  his  old  eyes, 
she  lifted  his  hand  to  her  lips. 

"You  and  me,  no  matter  what  comes,  what  happens," 
she  whispered,  "you  and  me  together,  the  best  of  friends, 
true  friends!"  She  paused;  she  lifted  her  little  face. 

"There,"  she  said,  "don't  you  get  it  now,  the  smell  of 
vinegar?  It  always  reminds  me  of  Bert." 


Sunny  was  sewing  industriously.  Out  on  the  scrap 
of  a  back  garden,  old  Gibbins  was  manfully  digging. 

After  all,  Sunny  had  decided  against  the  woman  to 
come  in  and  help. 

"I  shouldn't  be  able  to  call  the  place  my  own,"  she 
thought,  "and  I'd  have  her  breaking  up  my  things. 
No,  I'll  go  on  just  as  I  am!" 

The  old  man  paused  and  rested  on  his  spade,  and  Sunny 
watched  him  with  a  smile;  then  he  went  on  with  his 
work  again. 

"I  didn't  ought  to  be  here  sewing,"  she  muttered,  "I 
ought  to  be  learning  my  part  in  Bert's  play.  Where's 
the  script?"  She  rose,  then  stood  still. 


48°  Sunny  Ducrow 

From  outside  there  came  the  sound  of  a  car.  Sunny 
listened;  her  face  whitened  a  little.  She  listened  intently, 
the  car  had  stopped;  she  heard  the  sound  of  footsteps, 
and  the  color  flooded  her  cheeks  suddenly. 

"I  thought  you — you'd  forgotten  all  about  me, 
Arthur!"  she  said. 

"You  didn't  think  that,  Sunny!"  he  said  quietly. 
"You  knew  that  was  not  true!" 

"Then  why — why  didn't  you  come ? "  she  said.  "I've 
been  looking  for  you,  it's  weeks  now  since  you  were  here ; 
you  never  came  that  day,  and  I — I — had  got  such  a 
nice  lunch  for  you ! " 

"I  did  come  that  day,"  he  said.     "I  came,  but — 
He  paused. 

"But  you  didn't  come,  I  didn't  see  you,"  Sunny  cried. 

"You  had  a  visitor;  someone  was  here,  so  I  went  away 
again,"  he  said. 

"I  see,"  Sunny  said  slowly. 

He  reached  out  and  held  both  her  hands  tightly. 
"These  are  not  mere  words,  Sunny,"  he  said.  "I  am 
glad  from  my  heart,  you  deserve  all  the  happiness  this 
world  can  give  you,  dear!  I  am  glad  he — he  came  back, 
glad  all  is  well  with  you  again!" 

"I — I  don't  understand,"  she  said. 

"Dear,  you  do.  I  knew  who  it  was,  it  was  Dobring- 
ton,  so  I  did  not  come ;  I  knew  that  you  did  not  want  me 
that  day,  to-day  I  have  just  come  to  tell  you  that  I  am 
glad  you  have  found  your  happiness!  I  understand 
there  was  some  misunderstanding,  some  little  quarrel, 
eh?  But  it  is  all  over;  he  came  back  to  you,  and — so 
I  kept  away  like  a  coward!  I  had  a  fight  with  myself, 
but,  thank  God!  I've  got  the  better  of  it.  I'm  here 
to-day  to  wish  you  joy  and  happiness,  Sunny.  I  do 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  without  regret,  without 
pain,  dear!" 


The  Thing  She  Could  Not  Do    481 

"Arthur,"  she  said.  "Arthur,  I  think  I  know  what 
you  mean,  but — but  you  are  wrong,  all  wrong!" 

' '  Wrong, ' '  he  said.     ' '  Wrong,  Sunny  ? ' ' 

She  nodded.  "It  was  Stan;  he — he  came  back  like 
you  said  he  did;  but,  Arthur,  when  he  came  back  I — I 
knew  that  something  had  happened,  something  that 
made  all  the  difference  to  me  and  to  him!" 

"Sunny,"  he  said.  "Sunny,  what  do  you  mean? 
Do  you  mean  that  you  are  not  his  promised  wife?"  he 
cried.  "  I  counted  on  that,  I  made  up  my  mind  when  I 
saw  him  here,  his  car  waiting.  I  thought  it  would  be 
all  right  for  you  again.  Sunny  dear,  is  there  anything 
I  can  do?  Tell  me,  is  not  the  quarrel  made  up?  Is 
there  anything  that  needs  explaining?  Let  me  help 
you,  dear,  act  for  you;  call  on  me  as  if  I  was  your  brother." 

"There's  nothing  to  put  right,  everything's  put  right," 
she  said.  "It's  all  cleared  up,  Arthur,  and — and  he's 
gone!" 

"Gone!  you  sent  him  away?" 

She  nodded. 

"Then  you — you  don't — it  was  not" — he  paused — 
"Sunny,  did  you  not  love  him?" 

"Once,"  she  said,  "I  thought  I  did,  then  I  knew  I 
was  wrong!  I  told  him,  and  he  was  angry,  very  angry 
with  me,  Arthur;  but  it's  all  over  now.  Do  you  remem- 
ber once  here  in  this  little  house  you  said  I — I  was  a 
wonder,  was  there  anything  I  could  not  do?  And — I — I 
said " 

"You  said  there  were  some  things  that  you  could  not 
do,  but  you  would  not  tell  me  what  they  were,  Sunny." 

"I — I  can't  tell  you  now,"  she  said. 

"You  sent  him  away,"  he  said,  "you  sent  him  away; 
why?" 

"Because  I  knew  that  I  did  not  love  him  as  once  I 

31 


482  Sunny  Ducrow 

thought  I  did;  he  didn't  trust  me,  Arthur,  and  that 
killed  my  love  for  him!" 

"Sunny,  little  Sunny,  is  there — "  He  paused; 
into  his  eyes  there  came  an  eagerness,  a  new-born  hope. 
"  Dear,  is  there  any  hope  for  me  now;  is  there  any  hope 
in  this  world  for  me,  Sunny?" 

Sunny  looked  out  through  the  window  at  the  old  man 
laboring  slowly  over  his  work;  she  looked  back  into 
his  eager,  pleading,  hopeful  eyes  and  she  smiled. 

"That  was — was  it,"  she  whispered,  "one  of  the 
things  I  could  not  do,  Arthur — just  to — to  tell  you, 
dear,  that  I " 

"Cared — forme?"  he  whispered.      "Cared?     Sunny!" 

Sunny  nodded. 

THE  END 


ETHEL    M.    DELL'S    NOVELS 


May  ba  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  A  Dunlap's  list 


The  scene  of  this  splendid  story  is  laid  in  India  and 
tells  of  the  lamp  of  love  that  continues  to  shine  through 
all  sorts  of  tribulations  to  final  happiness. 

GREATHEART 

The  story  of  a  cripple  whose  deformed  body  conceals 
a  noble  soul. 

THE  HUNDREDTH  CHANCE 

A  hero  who  worked  to  win  even  when  there  was  only 
"  a  hundredth  chance." 

THE  SWINDLER 

The  story  of  a  "baa  man's"  soul  revealed  by  a 
woman's  faith. 

THE  TIDAL  WAVE 

Tales  of  love  and  of  women  who  learned  to  know  the 
true  from  the  false. 

THE   SAFETY  CURTAIN 

A  very  vivid  love  story  of  India.  The  volume  also 
contains  four  other  long  stories  of  equal  interest. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,         PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


FLORENCE  L.  BARCLAY'S 
NOVELS 

May  bt  hid  wlwtvtr  books  tn  sold.      Ask  fof  Sromt  4  DimUp'«  Hrt. 

THE  WHITE  LADIES  OF  WORCESTER 

A  novel  of  tne  l^th  Century.  The  heroine,  believing  she 
had  lost  her  lover,  enters  a  convent.  He  returns,  and  in- 
teresting developments  follow. 

THE  UPAS  TREE 

A  love  story  of  rare  charm.  It  deals  with  a  successful 
author  and  his  wife. 

THROUGH  THE  POSTERN  GATE 

The  story  of  a  seven  day  courtship,  in  which  the  dis- 
crepancy in  ages  vanished  into  insignificance  before  the 
convincing  demonstration  of  abiding  love. 

THE  ROSARY 

The  story  of  a  young  artist  who  is  reputed  to  love  beauty 
above  all  else  in  the  world,  but  who,  when  blinded  through 
an  accident,  gains  life's  greatest  happiness.  A  rare  story 
of  the  great  passion  of  two  real  people  superbly  capable  of 
love,  its  sacrifices  and  its  exceeding  reward. 

THE  MISTRESS  OF  SHENSTONE 

The  lovely  young  Lady  Ingleby,  recently  widowed  by  the 
death  of  a  husband  who  never  understood  her,  meets  a  fine, 
clean  young  chap  who  is  ignorant  of  her  title  and  they  fall 
deeply  in  love  with  each  other.  When  he  learns  her  real 
identity  a  situation  of  singular  power  is  developed. 

THE  BROKEN  HALO 

The  story  of  a  young  man  whose  religious  belief  was 
shattered  in  childhood  and  restored  to  him  by  the  little 
white  lady,  many  years  older  than  himself,  to  whom  he  is 
passionately  devoted. 

THE  FOLLOWING  OF  THE  STAR 

The  story  of  a  young  missionary,  who,  about  to  start  for 
Africa,  marries  wealthy  Diana  Rivers,  in  order  to  help  her 
fulfill  the  conditions  of  her  uncle's  will,  and  how  they  finally 
come  to  love  each  other  and  are  reunited  after  experiences 
that  soften  and  purify.  

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,         PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000498816     8 


